


The Best By Far is You

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationship, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 77,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve could feel himself relaxing, just having her this close. He sifted his fingers into her hair and pulled her close enough to kiss. Her mouth was soft, the kiss tender and fond.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Is this a bad idea?" he whispered against her mouth.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The question made her lean back a little, enough he could see her face, dark eyes soft and a little sad. "Probably." Sharon stroked his hair even as she spoke. "We're complicated.  Beyond just being coworkers. There's politics and history and I can't - I'm not looking for anything." She bit her lip and asked softly, "Should I go?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He was already shaking his head. He'd always tried to do what was right, and where had that gotten him? "I don't want you to go."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Oh thank God," she breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. "Promise to never say anything along the lines of 'huh, that's just how she used to do it' and I think we can make it work."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You are unique," he told her. "I want you," he whispered, needing her to understand. "You."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the same universe as our _Somewhere The Can't Find Me_ series and we are not "officially" putting it under that header because we want that series to be entirely about Clint and Nat and this is entirely Steve and Sharon. Here's what you need to know to not be confused:
> 
> Clint and Nat became a romantic couple after the incidents of the first Avengers movie. After the fall of SHIELD they went on the run, off the grid, hoping to settle and get out of the spy/superhero game entirely. They landed first in Venezuela, running a tourist trap bar on a beach town. When the local corruption caught up with them, they left again, finding a permanent home on a run down farm in Italy, driving distance from Rome. There, they've been a safe haven for the other Avengers, taking in Bucky after Steve found him and helping him find his place in the world. He eventually rejoined Steve in the US and joined the Avenger's team, striking up a relationship with the team doctor Amanda Newbury (an OC we borrowed from our Tales series). The Bartons took in the whole team during the events of Ultron, going with them to the Battle of Sokovia. They came home with a young boy, an orphan, and a new determination to be farmers and not heroes.
> 
> If you have questions feel free to leave comments and we'll try to clarify.
> 
> Please note the E rating and multitude of sex related tags. There's a lot of smut in this one.
> 
> The title is from the Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness song "Cecilia and the Satellite." I listened to it a lot while we were working on this and it reminds me of Steve.
> 
> _For all the things my hands have held_   
>  _The best by far is you_

Strong is getting up.

Sharon Carter was five years old the first time she heard those words. It was Christmas and she’d snuck outside with her new bike while the adults were distracted talking and cooking dinner and whatever other boring things adults did at holidays. The street was more or less deserted, but far more icy than she’d expected. After peddling around in cautious circles in the driveway for a while, she’d decided to venture out onto the sidewalk, promptly hit a slick patch and toppled, skidding across the pavement hard enough to ruin her jeans and get a decent patch of road rash on her cheek. In retrospect, she’d been lucky not to crack her helmet-free head open.

She’d been sitting on the sidewalk, crying, trying to figure out how to explain how she’d come to be bleeding and her bike bent, when her great-Aunt Peggy had come and stood beside her. “Had a bit of a mishap, did we?”

Sharon had sniffled and rubbed her nose with the back of a glove. “I fell. There was ice.”

“I see.” Aunt Peggy had stepped off the sidewalk and lifted the bike back onto its wheels, giving it a quick once over. “No worse for the wear. Why don’t you hop back on and I’ll help you?”

“I don’t want to.”

Aunt Peggy had crouched down in front of her then. “I know it’s hard to fall, darling. I’ve fallen more times then I can count.” Sharon, who at the time had thought Peggy was She-Ra, Wonder Woman and a Disney princess all rolled into one, immediately started paying attention. “There’s no bravery in not being afraid,” Peggy had continued. “Nor is there strength in never falling. Strength is in doing difficult things. Strong is not never falling, Sharon. Strong is getting back up.”

And so she’d gotten back up onto that bike and spent half the afternoon outside with Peggy, so that by New Years she could ride circles around her big brothers.

The words became a mantra for Sharon through every difficult time. Every bad grade, lost game, or broken heart. Every time someone said she couldn’t, or shouldn’t, or wouldn’t make it, Aunt Peggy’s voice was in her ear, telling her to get back up. When her parents didn’t want her to work for SHIELD right out of high school, she’d researched what the best degrees were for espionage work, double majored in sociology and Japanese, and signed up for Academy the day after graduation. When the other recruits and talked about her behind back (thought plenty loud enough for her to hear) that she was only there because of who her family was and she couldn’t keep up with the big boys, she proceeded to ace every test and blow every record out of the water. She’d graduated at the top of her class, so that no one would ever doubt who she was or why she was there.

When the Triskelion fell and the SHIELD she’d known proved to be a lie, she hadn’t had time to fall. She’d fought, with everything she had, then presented herself to the CIA a few days later, because the enormity of what had happened was too big to wrap herself around. She needed something to do, an occupation to keep her from falling to pieces. 

Aunt Peggy died a few months later, and what she’d hoped would be an opportunity to apologize to Captain Rogers had become one more blow. He’d been polite enough, even in his grief, but it was clear he had no interest in another conversation with her. So she’d walked away, spine straight and head held high, telling herself he wasn’t worth falling over.

The CIA was nothing like she’d hoped it would be. SHIELD might have been corrupt but it had been hidden, under the surface. Those who had been loyal had done good, or so they’d thought at the time. They might have been doing good at the CIA, but no one pretended the world was black and white and as time went on she found her shades of grey growing darker and darker, until she’d begun to wonder where the line was between her and the bad guys. If there was even a line at all.

The call from Maria Hill had felt like a life line, cast out in the middle of a storm. Move to Ithaca, she’d said, help me build something new. “We’re not going to be SHIELD,” she’d told her, in that blunt, no-nonsense way that Hill had. “And we’re sure as hell not the Avengers.”

“What will it be, then?” Sharon had asked, already glancing around her little DC apartment and wondering how quickly she could pack and calculating how much money she had in her savings.

“I have no fucking clue,” Hill had replied. “You want to help me figure it out?”

She’d never thought she’d buy her first house in Ithaca, New York. When she’d started building her nest egg - right after Fury has assigned her to guard Steve, as she was no longer paying rent while living in his building - she’d pictured saving up for a stately brick town home in Adams Morgan, or maybe a nice Federal out in the suburbs. Not a log cabin on a country road between Ithaca and the sprawling campus Stark was building as the new Avengers' headquarters. She’d given Hill her financial details, told her “a second bedroom would be nice” and somehow ended up with a free standing house with two proper bedrooms, a cozy loft, weathered log walls and beams and a kitchen that desperately needed updating, all for half the price of one of her beloved Adams Morgan town homes. There was even a chicken coop in the back yard, though God knew what she was going to do with it.

The stuff from her little garden apartment looked sad and lonely in the wide expanse of wood floor. Maybe she’d spend her weekend furniture shopping.

She worked in a construction zone, and the region got some serious winter weather, so she'd also bought herself an SUV. It had heated seats and plenty of space for boxes from IKEA. 

The Avengers HQ had a couple of buildings up already, enough that they weren't working in trailers, but not enough that people had truly proper offices yet. She and Hill were sharing a folding table in what was, admittedly, the best corner. 

They were starting from the ground up, and that started with intel.

Hill looked up when she arrived for work that Monday. "How's the cabin?" Sharon had the distinct impression she found her housing amusing.

"Rustic and depressingly under furnished," she replied, shrugging out of her coat and sinking into her chair. "What fascinating files am I reading today?"

"Fifty two more boxes were delivered yesterday." She pointed at the towering stack to her left. "I'm using them to build a wall."

Sharon shook her head. "We'll get a private office out of this yet."

She picked a box at random and lifted the stack of files onto their table. A lot of it was useless, some of it was redacted. But there was no way to separate the wheat from the chaff without going through every one.

"Oh. Also. Rogers is coming up this week."

Hiding her reaction was easy as she was reading mission reports about surveillance on an oil magnate which could probably double as a sleep aid. "For good?" she asked.

She shrugged. "I doubt it. He's here to walk through the training facility before recruitments starts. I told him the HVAC wasn't working yet but. . . that's Steve. He muttered something about looking at houses but I don't think he's serious." 

"Well, he was an excellent neighbor, I'd be happy to give him a good reference."

"Can you show him around? I've got a bunch of calls this afternoon."

And here she'd just been thinking she'd try to avoid him while he was in town. Hill would not give a shit about her awkward little relationship with Steve Rogers. "Yeah, sure. I've been meaning to poke around the training rooms, too." She'd be taking on some of the training once they had recruits, probably the part of her job she was most looking forward to.

"You are the handiest person I've hired yet," she replied.

Sharon tossed the file onto the "read" stack and reached for the next one. "If I was really handy there wouldn't be a bunch of half built IKEA furniture in my living room."

Two days later she was walking in from the parking lot when the front gate texted her that Rogers had arrived. Sighing, she shoved her phone back in her pocket and changed direction, jogging to meet him at the main building.

He was hunched into his jacket, scarf up to his nose and hat to his brow. "The door's locked," he said. "Also, hey."

"Hi," she replied, pulling the ring of keys off her belt. "Sorry, no one's working in this building full time yet." She unlocked the front doors and held it open for him. "Don't take the scarf off yet."

"Hill warned me." He went inside, though she could see he clearly wanted to argue with her about who should be the door-holder. "Didn't expect to see you here."

She let the door swing closed behind them and reattached her key ring. "Hill called, asked nicely. Well, nicely for her. I was ready for a change of scenery."

"Where did you land? After SHIELD?"

"CIA. The main training gym is this way." She pointed to the hallway off the left of the lobby before leading him that way. "Upstairs is currently earmarked for Doc's medical clinic and labs."

"She and Stark are sharing space in the tower right now and I'm really concerned they're going to murder each other."

Sharon remembered Doc Newbury from her SHIELD days and wasn't entirely sure who she'd put her money on. "Hill says we're still on time for the end on the month. So you won't get to celebrate Thanksgiving in lovely Ithaca, but Christmas is a lock."

"I do have several Thanksgiving invitations, so I suppose that's good." Though, he didn't sound particularly enthused about any of them, apparently.

She glanced back at him, formulating and rejecting several comments or questions. Who he was going to accept. What they did for Thanksgiving when he was younger. Perhaps suggesting he drop in on her Aunt Lily, Peggy's daughter, in an effort to make the most awkward Thanksgiving meal in history. But most of them were pretty inane and that last one was downright mean. So she stuck with a hopefully safe comment on her own plans. "I'm sort of happy to have an official excuse to miss my family's shenanigans."

That got a smile out of him. "Yes, I've met some of you Carters."

It was said with affection, so she smiled back. "There's even more now. My brother Pat got engaged this summer and Matt and his wife are expecting number three." Not to mention it was her parents turn to host the cousins, which added a dozen more people to the mix, all happily married and, on the surface at least, content with their lives. Not that she wanted people to be miserable, but there was only so much third wheeling she could handle.

They'd reached the gym and she had to fiddle with the keys to find the right one. "I intend to skip the turkey and make myself a huge pot of mashed potatoes and some sweet potato custard and stream Netflix." She finally got the right key and shoved the door open for him. 

He caught it and insisted on ushering her in in front of him. "That sounds far more appealing than being the 5th wheel at someone else's family dinner."

She made a sympathetic noise, because she'd certainly been there. "And you can't even pretend to be sick."

"I've contemplating telling them all I'm going to someone else's and hope they don't talk. Like a round robin of lies. Then I feel like a jerk."

"Some friends and I tried that in high school. Everyone said they were staying at someone else’s house and we all went into the city to go clubbing." She paused. "It ended poorly."

He walked into the center of the gym and turned in a slow circle and looked around. "I'm just so, so tired of people making sad sympathetic eyes at me."

"I'm tired of the little pat on my shoulder or knee and the reassurance that 'it'll be your turn next' or 'you'll find the right man when you least suspect it.'" She shrugged, as if it to physically shrug off the pain and frustration. Wanting a distraction, she pointed to the pull up bars. "All the built in equipment is reinforced, so you and Barnes and even Thor can use it without ripping it out of the walls. Stark designed all the weight benches and machines to be able to withstand half a ton. There's four smaller work out rooms." She gestured to the row of doors. "For privacy. Two have punching bags and training dummies, the others are open floor for sparring."

He reached up to grab one of the bars, and casually did a couple of one armed pull-ups. "Thor is making noises about going back to Asgard to deal with some stuff, so I don't think we have to worry about him. God knows what Vision can lift, but. . .I don't know, does he even need to work out?"

Questions about the work-out needs of androids was almost certainly above her pay grade. "If he does, he can talk to me about any special needs. For now I'm keeping the schedule here. You and the team have priority but once we have some mundane agents to train I'll need a few blocks of time during the week."

"You training the rookies?" he asked.

She smiled. "Yep. I've got admin duties as well, but I'll be their beginning trainer, at least until Hill finds some more SHIELD refugees she trusts. I'm happy to work with the Maximoff girl, too, if you want."

"Assuming she actually shows up," he said with a sigh.

Hill had included her on the roster like it was a done deal. "I'm sorry, I thought she was officially part of the team. Is she getting cold feet?"

He shrugged. "She's still in Italy with the Bartons. It seems to be a rather seductive place. We'll see."

There was an edge of bitterness to his tone that she'd never heard before. The thought that Captain America could get bitter and jaded after a while was rather depressing. Sharon shoved her hands in her pockets. "Well, I'm here if you need me." That. . . had not come out right. She cleared her throat. "Do you want the full tour? There showers and changing rooms are this way and your office."

He nodded. "A tour sounds great."

She led him through the locker room, which was outfitted with several soaking tubs that could be filled with hot water or ice depending on need. She was looking forward to those after a long training session. The showers were stalls, with private dressing rooms and excellent water pressure. Everything top of the line, the only way Stark knew how.

Then it was out into the hall and back across the lobby. "These are file rooms, this will eventually be Hill's office and this one is yours." It was unlocked so she let him open it for her. "You have a view of the outdoor training yard. It's buried under all that snow somewhere."

He hunched his shoulders and stared out at the landscape. "If it's like this in November, I'm almost scared of February."

"The locals have happily assured me this is the coldest November they remember. But yeah, I imagine it'll only get worse." She glanced at him and asked hesitantly, "Cold bothers you?"

"Let's just say I've had my fill."

"Makes sense. Is that why you haven't come up full time yet?"

"I've been procrastinating finding somewhere to live." Not an admission, but not a denial.

"I just had the realtor Hill found do the leg work for me." If he didn't want to talk about it she wouldn't push. She was getting through this without awkward conversation if it killed them both. "I don't know that I would have picked what I ended up with but it's a house and the commute's not bad."

"Better than DC?"

"That's a complicated question," she said honestly. They strolled out of his office, closing the door behind them. The hallway was slightly warmer. "Never really thought I'd end up in Ithaca. And I've never lived this far from my family. It's only been a week, but I think it might grow on me." She shrugged. "I needed a change, probably not my place to complain about how it happens."

He turned and looked at her. "You don't have to settle for the status quo."

"I'm excited about what we're hoping to do here," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure it was only him she was trying to convince. "Hill's head is in the right place and Stark had given her carte blanche. And well-" She shrugged again and looked down the hall to the lobby. "Maybe I don't trust my decisions quite as much as I used to. This felt like. . . stable footing. Hopefully."

"I suppose that's why I'm here. Something that feels familiar in a time of chaos."

She nodded, appreciating that there was at least one other person who felt that way. "Nothing the last few years has happened the way I thought it would. I'm just trying to go in this with no expectations." Maybe that would make it easier to take if it did all come crashing down. She blew out a breath. "Anything else you wanted to see?"

He shook his head. "Thank you, no. I really appreciated the tour."

"Not a problem. Come on, I'll walk you out." They walked out to the lobby, then out into the snowy parking lot. "I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving," she offered. "Wherever you end up."

He inclined his head. "Enjoy your mashed potatoes and Netflix."

"Thanks." She cleared her throat and nodded. "Drive safe. I'll see you in December." He gave her a single nod, and then he was gone.

She watched the red lights of his car disappear down the drive, then nodded to herself. Not awkward at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we'll be doing a Tues/Friday posting schedule on this one. Here's a nice looooong chapter to get you through the week.

"The Newbury's are really nice people. I think you'd have fun."

Steve sighed, regretting—not for the first time—inviting Bucky to run with him. He was the only person who could keep up with Steve. Usually it was fun. Today, Bucky was trying to sell him on tagging along to Thanksgiving dinner with his girlfriend's family. "I'm sure they're lovely," he muttered.

"Her dad was in the Army," he added. "So he's not going to get all fan boy on you, or want us to tell war stories."

"Are you afraid of facing Amanda's family alone?" Steve asked. "Is that what this is about?"

"No. It's not that. I just don't want you to be alone on the holiday." So guilt, really, was the motivation. 

"I have plenty of options if I want dinner."

Bucky was silent a moment and they got to run in peace. "Are you going to take any of them?" he asked finally.

One of them involved flying to Italy. One of them involved being the sad extra person at a table full of couples. One of them involved being Captain America all day for the very nice but completely overwhelming Wilson family. They were at least in driving distance. "Maybe I want to make a bowl of mashed potatoes and watch Netflix."

That earned him a look that was an almost hilarious blend of confusion and incredulity. "Really?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. I ran into Sharon Carter up in Ithaca and we were talking about Thanksgiving. She has couch plans." He looked over at Bucky, who was not going to let this go. "I'll probably go see Natasha," he said. He could talk to Wanda Maximoff while he was there, and see if she was or was not coming along. Plus he could fly on Stark's plane, which was always nice.

Bucky sighed. "Look, I know I'm being pushy. I'm just. . . some of us are worried about you. You've changed since Sokovia and we just. . . want to make sure you remember you have us. If you need us."

"I haven't changed," he said. "I am as I was. _You_ are different."

"That's not-" Bucky cut himself off and Steve was grateful he didn't have to have that particular discussion right now. "I'm trying not to be," he finished finally. "I'm still your friend."

"I know you are." That was the story of the two of them, right there. Ninety years, and nothing changed. Most of the time, he was grateful for the predictable pattern. Bucky trying to save him, or fix him. Social events involving Bucky and his girl, and either an empty chair or whatever friend said girl had managed to dig up. The empty chair was usually the less awkward option. For a whole host of reasons he wasn't interested in thinking about right now. "And I want you to be happy. I'm glad she makes you happy."

He braced for the inevitable "I want you to find someone that makes you happy, too." But, to his relief, it didn't come. Maybe Bucky didn't want to repeat the same conversation again any more than Steve did. Or maybe he was just starting to give up on it ever happening.

Instead, he said, "Well, at least I know Nat will feed you properly."

"Supposedly a turkey will be fried." His first post-ice Thanksgiving had been spent at Stark's now-destroyed house in Malibu. They'd fried a turkey out on the patio and Pepper had made him put the suit on because she'd seen too many explosion videos on Youtube. Steve had made onion gravy because there were no drippings and they'd made jokes about the depression. It was, as he recalled, Mrs. Barnes's gravy recipe.

He'd felt a little bit of normal, then, for the first time since waking up. After that he'd joined SHIELD and tried to make some sense of life in the modern world. After SHIELD fell, finding Bucky had given him purpose. Then they'd fought Hydra again, he and Bucky and their team, like time itself unwinding.

Now it all was over, and he couldn't help wondering if this was what 1946 would have felt like, if they'd survived to see it. At least then he might have had a chance at having a girl of his own.

That was not a path he wanted to let his mind wander down. If he let himself think about Peggy and what might have been. . . well, that was a pit he didn't see the bottom of.

Bucky dropped the topic of Thanksgiving after that, apparently content that he was going to be with _someone_ even if it wasn't him. Nat sounded happy when Steve called to tell her he was coming.

He flew from New York to London on Stark's swank personal jet, Junior and Ginger tearing up and down the aisles like the world's tiniest herd of elephants. Stark chased them, as they didn't believe in bringing the nanny on vacation. Steve admired that, a man that rich changing diapers and looking after his own kids. Pepper had business in London, so the rest of the entourage would be staying there for most of the week. As amusing as it would be to watch Stark and Vision taking a preschooler and a toddler on a tour of the Tower of London, Steve decided to go ahead to Italy for some quiet time in advance of the holiday chaos.

Clint met him at the tiny local airport Stark somehow got clearance to land on, in a truck with several layers of dust and mud on it, a handful of farm tools rattling around in the back. Here at least, there was no snow. Clint wasn't even wearing a jacket, bare arms tan in the afternoon light. Steve felt more relaxed just looking at him. "At least I didn't just land on your lawn," he called in greeting.

"And we appreciate that, but not as much as our animals do." He held out a hand and they shook, complete with slaps on the shoulder, before climbing into the truck. "I'm glad you're here," Clint admitted when they were on the road heading out of town. "I'm out numbered."

Steve frowned, trying to make sense of that. He and Nat had adopted a little boy who'd been orphaned in the Battle of Sokovia, and they had Wanda Maximoff staying with them, which made the numbers even unless math had changed while he was under the ice. He thought even the dog was male. "Is that because the goats are female?" It was all he could think of.

"No. The rest of them all speak Sokovian. Sometimes they forget I'm there."

That made Steve laugh. "Maybe you should learn."

He lifted a shoulder. "I'm working on it. Mikael isn't entirely fluent in English yet. We're teaching each other through home improvement projects."

"How is parenthood treating you?"

Clint's crooked grin spoke volumes. "He's a good kid. Had a rough patch when we first got home. Lots of nightmares. But he's doing better. Helped with olive harvest."

"You won't believe how enormous the Stark kids have gotten. Junior was going on about Persephone Juice on the plane ride. I have no idea what it is, but I sure hope you have some."

"Yeah, Nat squeezed some up for him special." He turned down a rougher, country road. "We gave you the bedroom as far away from theirs as possible. Figured you might like some privacy."

"Much appreciated, thank you."

They spent most of the rest of the drive in silence. Steve relaxed in his seat, watching the trees and farms that rolled past the window. Half an hour later they pulled up in front of their house, right where he and Bucky had parked all those years ago. Clint climbed out and grabbed Steve's bag for him, leading him inside.

Natasha was in the kitchen with Wanda and Mikael. The ladies appeared to be canning, while the boy sat at the end of the counter gutting a pumpkin.

"Hello, all," he said. Nat looked up, mad a little squeak, and jogged over to hug him. He was instantly glad he'd come.

She squeaked again when he lifted her off her feet, but she held on tight, pressing her face into his shoulder. "I'm so glad to see you," she told him.

"You're looking well." She looked happy, which was always a nice thing to see.

"Thank you." He set her down on her feet. She studied him intently a moment. He wondered what she saw. Nat might be retired and keeping bees, but he had no doubt she was as sharp as she'd ever been. "Come sit, tell me how everyone's doing. How's the place in Ithaca coming?"

"Good. Very good. We'll be ready to start occupancy, soon."

He followed her back to the counter. Wanda smiled at him, wide but shy. "Hello, Captain Rogers."

"Hello, Wanda," he said. "How are you?"

"Very well." She carefully screwed on the lid to the jam jar she was working on. "It's very peaceful here. And Natasha and Clint have been very kind."

"It's a nice place to figure yourself out," he said.

She nodded. "It is." Biting her lip, she glanced at Nat, who very pointedly didn't glance her way. Wanda sighed and looked back to Steve. "I was hoping to came back with you, after the holiday."

He came a little closer to her. "If that's what you want."

She held his gaze, calm and steady in a way she definitely hadn't been right after Sokovia. "I want to help. I went about everything the wrong way, but my intentions were good. I'd like to try to do it the right way this time."

"Good," he said. "We'd love to have you on the team."

Her smile widened and turned less shy and he wondered if she'd been afraid he would say no, that perhaps her sins were too big for second chances.

"Good, it will take at least two of you to carry back all the stuff we're sending," Nat said. "I'll keep you people in artisanal goods for months."

"Tony brought the big plane," Steve replied.

"The goat's milk soap is very nice," Wanda commented. She and Nat gathered up the jars they'd been working on and brought them to the huge six burner stove, where Wanda used her powers to carefully lower them into a deep pot of boiling water.

Nat left her to it, moving down to Mikael to help him spread pumpkin seeds onto a cookie sheet. Steve could feel himself relax further. He'd called this place seductive and it really was, especially for someone like him, who still wasn't entirely comfortable with the world. It was like going back in time. If you ignored the modern appliances and TV he could see in the other room, this could have been a kitchen in his youth, homemade jam and all.

There was something to be said for what they'd done. Decide on the type of life they wanted to live, and choose to live it. Life had been just happening to him for such a long time. He couldn't entirely imagine what it would be like to just do whatever he wanted. As much as Sam kept insisting he could.

The afternoon passed with all of them flitting in and out of the kitchen. Once the pumpkin seeds were baked, it was time for several tray of actual pumpkin to get roasted, then for the jam jars to come out of their water bath. Steve got deputized into carrying heavy things, and reaching on high shelves. He talked with Mikael for a while, in his halting, accented English. At Nat's prodding, the little boy showed him some sketches he'd done of animals and plants in the garden. They were good, advanced for his age, and Steve gave what he hoped was constructive advice.

Dinner was roast chicken and a cheese potato dish, with a fresh salad he was sure had only traveled a matter of yards to get to the table. 

After dinner, Mikael came over and shyly asked if he could see some of Steve's drawings. He hadn't drawn anything in so long he stopped even carrying a sketch pad; not his little notebook he doodled in, and not the sort of larger one he'd have on a long trip. Scenery like this, he'd probably usually bring a rather large kit. Maybe even paints. But after Sokovia art had made him feel worse rather than better. All he'd drawn was dark and depressing. Everything he'd thought he was over was suddenly back, and fresh. He'd spent days trying to draw the fuzzy memories from his hallucination, as if he could purge it somehow. Nothing looked right. He realized he had half a dozen pages of Peggy's face—which apparently he could no longer remember properly—and so he'd closed the sketchbook and hadn't opened it since. That had been months ago.

The little boy was obviously disappointed, and Steve found himself wanting to promise to go to town and buy a new sketch pad, just so he could draw him something. Nat called Mikael to go clean up for bedtime before he could say anything, though.

He went out onto the patio to look out at the orchard. It was chillier now with the sun down, but still nothing like back home. A few minutes later Natasha appeared at his side, holding a cup of coffee out for him. 

"Thank you," he said. "I never get tired of this view."

"Neither do I," she said, sipping her own mug. "There's a spot up past the bee barn. I swear you can see all the way to Rome if you lean right. And at sunset?" She shook her head. "Colors I didn't even know they had."

"Maybe that's what I need. To buy a farm."

"Feeling lost?" she asked, in that carefully neutral way she had.

He watched the wind move the trees. "Not all who wander are lost."

"All that is old does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost." She glanced up at him. "In the Lord of the Rings the poem is actually about Aragorn, but I suppose it applies to you as well." Sipping her coffee, she added, "If you want to stay past Thanksgiving, you're welcome to."

Tempting, that was. "There's work to do. The new HQ and the new team. . ." In the ice and snow of an Ithaca winter. He really didn't want to think about that.

"Are you afraid that if you stop and breathe your demons will finally catch you? I remember when I first joined SHIELD I was always begging for more assignments, more missions. Because every minute alone in my quarters involved me fighting not to remember everything I wanted to forget."

She was always to astute for her own good. "Sam thinks I need to make peace with my past. The thing is, I really thought I _had_."

"There's different kinds of peace. For years I had my ledger. Erase the bad deeds with good ones. Balance my karmic scales, for a deity I didn't even believe in. When SHIELD fell and I found out some of those good deeds hadn't been. . ." She shook her head. "When we first ran, Clint and I settled in Venezuela. Started a bar, swore we'd live clean, out of the game. Then things started happening, people needed our help. I thought I could still wipe out my ledger, on a smaller scale."

Crossing her arms, she hugged herself. "Then Clint got hurt. Almost died. And that was it for me. I'd live with the red so that I could keep him. That was a trade I was willing to make. I'd carry the weight of my past if I got to live my future with him." She looked up at him. "I didn't make peace with it, but I stopped letting it define my life. The life you would have had, you might have accepted it's gone, but I think you're still carrying it around with you. Maybe you need to find a way to set it down."

"And then what the hell is after that?"

"Your next life. In whatever shape you want it to be." She was quiet a moment. "We used to talk about you having Cap mode and Steve mode. Cap used to be out only for missions. But I'm seeing him a lot more lately. I worry you've forgotten there's other things you can be."

"People have lots of use of Cap," he said. And less, as he'd implied, of Steve. Maybe that was unfair. But certainly everyone was closing in on themselves and their own lives and families. Somehow it managed to make him feel like a man out of time all over again.

Nat was quiet a moment. She understood the duality of his life, at least in that respect. He'd seen her effortlessly switch from the Widow to Natasha and back again. "I have use for my friend Steve," she said finally. "Please don't bury him entirely."

He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I won't. I promise."

In the morning, he drove Clint's truck into town to buy a couple of pencils and a sketchbook.

*

Thanksgiving on her couch turned out to be the best idea Sharon had had in quite some time. She'd texted a group _Happy Turkey Day!_ to her collected family and ignored her phone the rest of the day. The mashed potatoes were fluffy and buttery, the sweet potato custard the perfect dessert pretending to be a side dish. She even ducked into the bakery the Wednesday before and managed to score a pecan pie someone had cancelled at the last minute.

Loneliness didn't really sink in until the evening, halfway through _The Lion in Winter_. Snow had begun to fall mid afternoon and the wind was now occasionally rattling her windows. It was the kind of night for cuddling in front of the fire and conserving body heat. She had three fireplaces in the cabin, but no one to share body heat with.

Maybe she should get a cat. Or a dog. Or some chickens.

Monday the compound officially opened. Hill had hopped a plane to start in person recruiting, leaving Sharon to deal with the administrative nightmares that was a couple hundred people descending at once. There was badges that didn't work, locks that stuck, a parking lot that needed plowing and a dozen other minor annoyances that made her phone jangle and her head ache. By lunch she was seriously wondering why they hadn't gotten a liquor license for the cafe and smoothie bar in the main building.

She came back with her sandwich to find a young woman with long dark hair and really too much eye makeup loitering outside her office. "Hi, Sharon," she said in very accented English. "I'm Wanda Maximoff."

Sharon resisted the urge to pull her phone out and see if she'd missed a meeting. She never missed meetings and this had all the earmarks of just popping in. "Hi," she said, holding a hand out for the younger woman to shake. Unlocking her office, she held the door open for Wanda to follow her. "So you're coming on board?"

"Yes," she said. "I thought Steve would have told you. I flew back from Italy with him and the Starks."

"I haven't seen Steve since before the holidays." And if he'd sent her an email or text Lord knew she hadn't had a chance to read it. She sat at her desk and gestured to her spare chair before starting to unwrap her sandwich. "Sorry, I'm going to eat this while we talk. It's been that kind of day."

"He said he had a couple of things to deal with in the city, but would be up within the week. And also that you were the person to talk to about housing."

That wasn't entirely true, but Hill wasn't here and Sharon still had the realtor’s contact information. "I can help you with that. It might be a little tricky since I assume you don't have any rental history or provable income. But I'll make some calls and find you something." She sipped her coffee. "I'm actually glad to meet you. I wanted to offer to do some of your hand-to-hand combat training."

Wanda blinked. "Combat training?"

"I know you have the telekinesis, but you may find it useful to know some basic physical moves. Broaden your skill set." And she didn't imagine Steve was going to bring someone who couldn't even throw a punch on missions with him.

Her smile turned sad. "I always had my brother to punch people for me."

"I'm very sorry about your loss," she said sincerely. "I have two older brothers, I know it would kill me to lose them."

"We always said we were alone in the world. Being alone was better with company."

The words struck Sharon harder than she would have expected. She didn't remember the last time she felt she had company in her loneliness. "I hope you find some family here. We're an odd bunch, but so far everyone I've met is nice."

"I want to do some good, and have a purpose."

"Hopefully, we'll have both of that in spades." She ate the last bite of sandwich and wiped her hands off on a napkin. "I'll get the realtor looking for something permanent for you. In the meantime we have some temporary housing we're using for people as they settle in. Let me check the current availability and I'll walk you over."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

Taking Wanda to the apartments and giving her a quick tour of the facility killed a little over an hour. By then four more emergencies had popped up, which took up the rest of the day. It was well after dark by the time she dragged her ass home. The next two days were more of the same, with slightly less frantic phone calls and texts. Then Hill came back, thank God, with a stack of recruitment files for her to go over.

She was eating another lunch at her desk, trying not to drip terrible Ithaca Chinese food onto her files, when a voice from the doorway said, "I think your office has a better view than mine."

Steve just about filled said doorway, especially when he crossed his arms and leaned on the jamb. Sharon smiled and pointed her chopsticks at him. "If it helps, I'm not in here very much."

"Where are you usually?"

"Running around from one metaphorical fire to another." She leaned back in her chair. "Giant compounds don't run as smoothly as you might imagine."

He grinned at her. "At least this one's not underground."

"That is a plus, but now I have snow plows to negotiate as well." Stabbing her chopsticks into her General Tsaos she asked, "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I assume there are barracks of some sort around here. Or whatever people are calling them these days."

"There's some temporary housing apartments. Getting damn near close to full, so I hope some people start finding houses soon. I assume you want one?"

"I just need somewhere to crash. I've been informed I am not allowed to sleep in my office."

Of course someone had to inform him of that. Sharon wondered if it had been Hill. Hill didn't seem the type to care. Maybe it had been Barnes, or Doc Newbury. For the briefest of moments she flirted with the idea of offering him her guest room, but shook it off and leaned forward to bring up the apartment spread sheet again. Cohabiting would be a bad idea. That way lay madness and probably some embarrassing dreams. 

"You're in luck, we can squeeze you in." She marked off 4G, the last corner unit left, as occupied and closed the file before getting up. "I'll walk you over."

He dipped his head. "Thank you."

They headed downstairs and out into the cold. "Now, you won't have your own laundry here," she told him, taking a chance at teasing him. "So you'll have to find another opening line."

"Do _you_ have your own laundry?"

"I do," she said. "The machines are older than me, and the dryer spin cycle might qualify as an amusement park ride."

His eyebrows went up, and she could see him swallow something he was about to say. She got the distinct impression that what ever it was, it was off-color. "Well," he said instead. "At least you don't have dirty scrubs." Then he frowned. "Though I guess you never had dirty scrubs."

"No," she said quietly, rather regretting her choice of teasing topics. "Just the normal clothes."

He lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. "Eh. Probably good for me to get rejected once in a while. Remind me where I came from."

She smiled. "Well, you handle rejection a hell of a lot better than most men I know." They trudged across a snow covered lawn and down the center of a plowed road to each the apartments. Inside was delightfully warm. She picked up the keys from the front desk and took him up to the fourth floor.

It was a cozy one bedroom, intended for short term stays, but Steve said, "This is fine. More than I need, really," as if he had been expecting actual barracks.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. "If you give me a budget and requirements I can get the realtor working on it." He was probably going to dodge the suggestion, but she was pretty sure he needed the pushing.

He was already shaking his head. "I'm not looking to buy a house."

She debated pointing out realtors could find rentals, as well, but decided against it. It was none of her business where Steve Rogers slept at night. If they ran out of space in the temp housing someone else could evict him. "Well, I suggest stocking the fridge. The cafe closes at five and the delivery places in Ithaca leave a lot to be desired."

"I like cooking," he replied, wandering over to the tiny kitchen to inspect the appliances. "Haven't done it in a while, but. . ." he shrugged.

"Cooking for one can get lonely," she said, almost despite herself. "Though I think you have a better kitchen here than I do in my cabin."

He glanced back at her. "Well. You're welcome to use my stove."

There seemed to be no right answer to that that wasn't far too flirty or a brush off. Their interactions would grow less complicated with time, right? Otherwise she might have to start having Hill pass him notes in Calculus. "I will keep that in mind next time I feel the urge to make Mom's pot pie."

"I will probably demand a piece in payment." He grinned that disarming smile of his, and she remembered just how much she'd wanted to say yes to laundry and coffee.

"I am certain that can be arranged," she told him, smiling back, because really, what else could she do. "My barbecue meatloaf is also not to be missed."

"Sound like a plan." He cleared his throat. "Well. I should go make arrangements for my stuff."

"Right." She put the keys on the kitchen counter. "I'll see you around, then." He gave a little nod and she headed out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to post Friday morning not Saturday but editing and kids and packing and real life and blah, blah, blah.
> 
> Look! Hot people having sex!

Steve didn't know what to make of Sharon Carter. He'd known what to make of Kate the Nurse from across the hall. Asking her out—or trying to, anyway—had a been kind of a last grasp at normalcy for him. His gut, the gut that saved his life many times, had told him after his conversation with Fury that normal was about to go out the window. This idea that he'd entertained, that there was some part of him that could be a normal guy with a government job who had coffee with the cute girl across the hall, hadn't been long for the world. 

And it had all been bullshit, anyway. Mostly crafted for him by Fury and Natasha to keep him safe and hide the ugly of the world from him. It was funny when he thought about it long enough. That they'd imagined he needed someone to protect him. He'd been pretty capable of fighting his own battles since he'd stumbled out of that pod in the underground SSR lab.

He'd realized pretty quickly that her real purpose had been to watch him. Because bugging his apartment hadn't been enough. Fury needed an in-person spy. That he'd picked someone Steve would like, would talk to and flirt with and possibly trust—and oh, by the way, turned out to be Peggy's fucking niece—had been the knife twist that just kept on giving. He'd been cold to her the day the Trisk fell and practically openly hostile at Peggy's funeral. He felt like a jerk now about that, but the hell if he knew what he ought to say.

Maybe they could just work together and it would be professional and fine. Hill didn't trust a whole lot of people, and that she was practically her second in command said a great deal about her competence. Personal stuff could be put aside.

He'd been at the compound about a week. Mostly he worked with the team, ferreting out strengths and weaknesses, seeing who worked well together and whose abilities complimented the best. It was familiar, almost soothing. He was good at strategy, good at watching and assessing. Bucky had slipped back into his role at Steve's side. Once in a while he could almost pretend the last 70 years had been a bad dream.

One afternoon, after a light morning workout with the others, he went to the gym to try to get in a few rounds with the heavy bag. To his surprise, he found the main room occupied, Sharon's voice ringing out before he had the door open all the way.

"-impressed. Why don't you step forward and show me some things."

Steve slipped inside silently, not wanting to disturb her, but curious as hell. He found her in the center of the room, eight people in dark blue BDUs in a half circle in front of her. He counted six men and two women, all in their early twenties.

Sharon was talking to the biggest of the men. He was at least Steve's height, with muscles that spoke of a deep and abiding love of the gym. Steve could see just enough of his face to register a smug smile as he glanced back at the guy next to him. "Pretty sure it's bad form to beat up the CO on the first day."

The rest of them reacted with a blend of uncomfortable laughter and silence. Sharon tossed her head in a way that made her long pony tail bounce and smiled sweetly, "It's just sparring, recruit. I'm sure you'll go easy on me."

_Are we gonna wrestle? 'Cause I got a few moves I know you'll like._

That guy had been such a jerk. Steve couldn't remember his name now. Hopkins? Something like that. What he did remember was his smug and leering smirk, and how Peggy had knocked it clean off his face without breaking a sweat. 

Hodge. That was his name. He'd taken Peggy about as seriously as Sharon's opponent looked to be taking her.

The recruit stepped up to face off against her, dropping into a martial arts pose. Steve gave him credit for that and for not coming at Sharon till she'd readied herself and nodded. He went at her and she blocked his blows, backing up to give him ground. He was obviously trained, probably in more than one fighting style. He was disciplined, precise. Steve could see Sharon take his measure in less than a minute. And then she started fighting back.

For the first time since meeting her - since finding out their connection - he saw Peggy in her. She had fought like a back room brawler, throwing elbows and knees and using whatever was at hand as a weapon. She'd taught him how to fight, and been far more successful at it than Bucky ever had. _Like it or not, you're not six feet tall,_ she'd told him. _You can't fight like you are._

Sharon's fighting had more grace to it, and she didn't have anything handy to hit the guy with. But there was Peggy in the aggressive way she went at him, the foot to the inside of his knee. It threw him, made him lose his precision. When he swung at her next, she caught his arm, twisted and took him to the ground, digging her heel into his arm pit.

Steve had come as far as the side of the mat, and started to clap. It was probably a little mean, to call attention to the fact that this guy's ass-kicking-by-a-girl had been witnessed by Captain America. But it was a lesson that needed learning, especially by a guy like that.

The recruits were staring at him in a combination of shock and awe. Sharon released her opponent, but didn't offer him a hand up. She whistled through her teeth to get everyone's attention. "There's a red line that runs around the room. That's your lap route. Ten of them to warm up, go." The eight recruits jogged off without a hesitation.

When Sharon looked over at him, Steve said, "You are a credit to your bloodlines."

She grinned, obviously pleased, and crossed the mat to stand next to him. "I do try to make her proud."

"I see the professional training. The martial arts and the ballet SHIELD trainers cribbed from Natasha. But under that. . . I would imagine she was the first person to teach you to fight."

Keeping an eye on her charges, she said, "When I was in, oh, first or second grade, my best friend was a little girl with very thick glasses and a speech delay. A boy in the grade above us decided she would be a very good person to torment. One day he pushed her into a mud puddle and made her cry. When I tried to fight him I bloodied his lip with a sucker punch before joining her in the puddle. When Aunt Peggy heard of this she picked me up after school for a couple of weeks and started training me. She told me she couldn't abide bullies, no matter what size they were." That with a reasonable mimic of Peggy's accent. "I bided my time and when said bully tried to steal the glasses off my friends face I introduced him to everything I had learned." She lifted a shoulder. "Of course, after I broke his nose and two ribs I was in some pretty serious trouble. But it was worth it. He never came near my friend again."

"What happened to her?" he asked. "Your friend."

She smiled fondly. "She's a veterinarian now, in New Jersey. Says her patients don't care if she stutters. Married a very socially awkward man who writes computer code. She still sends me Christmas cards. They've got two very adorable children, expecting another in March."

"Life sure does happen, doesn't it?"

"Faster than I'd like, sometimes." She squinted and yelled, "It's a warm up not a Sunday stroll Ferris, pick up the pace."

Steve chuckled. "I am awash in deja vu right now."

The look she gave him was wary and a little hesitant. "Sorry?" 

"When I was in boot camp, an outsider might have reasonably believed that my full legal name was Pick Up The Pace Rogers."

She grinned again. "I've heard Sam's 'on your left' story, I think you're doing all right."

He shrugged. "I might have been showing off there. Just a little."

"If I were were I'd show off all the damn time." She glanced down, checking out his clothes. "Were you coming to work out?"

"I was thinking of testing the punching bags."

"Ah. Well, I wasn't planning on taking them into the private rooms, so hopefully we won't bother you." She blew out a breath, glancing out the windows. "I can't wait till the spring and I can work out outside."

He looked out at the snow, which he hated more and more each day. "Agreed."

A couple of her recruits had finished their laps and begun to mingle on the mat again. Sharon started towards them, then turned back to Steve, walking backwards. "Next time, try coming after hours, like seven or something. It's after the cleaning crew comes through and the building’s empty."

"Am I a distraction?" he called after her.

She grinned. "Just your ass." Her mouth snapped shut and for a moment she looked almost horrified she'd said it. But then she schooled her expression back to a smile before turning back to her recruits.

He decided that entitled him to watch hers for a moment before heading off to find his punching bag.

*

Sharon had never really considered herself a workaholic. Granted, there was a certain amount of living at work required when one was an undercover spy. Certainly she hadn't had a lot of downtime living across from Steve. But she wasn't spying, she was working behind a desk, there was no reason to be at work after seven pm.

Except that going home to an empty, cold, dark cabin was really depressing. She put it off as long as she could most days, heading to the gym for the after hours working out. The gym was dark when she got there and she didn't bother to turn on the hard overhead lights. There was plenty of illumination from the moon and outdoor lighting coming in the windows. She did plug her iPod into the sound system so she could listen to her music while she worked.

It took a few minutes to drag a couple of training dummies to the mats and warm up, stretching her legs and arms a bit. Then she peeled her top off, leaving her in a sports bra and got down to her work out proper. She got into it and zoned out, enough that the opening of the door took her by surprise. She swung around in alarm to find Steve standing there.

For a few awkward heartbeats they just stared at each other. Sharon wondered if there was a non-obvious way to put her shirt back on. The silence was stretching too long so she cast about and finally said, "You took my advice."

"I did. I'm sorry. I thought it would be empty. I just cranked the heat up like crazy," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I was just. . . unwinding a little." She didn't want to admit she was avoiding her house. "I don't mind company if you don't."

He shook his head obligingly, and came further inside. "Do you do live training much?"

"Like sparring? Not as much as I'd like. Hill's probably the only one here at my skill level willing to go around and our schedules don't line up too often."

"Bucky and I train a lot. We're pretty evenly matched, so it can go on for hours. Usually nobody wins."

She laughed, distracting herself by going to get a drink of water from her sports bottle in an effort _not_ to picture that. "You want to go a few rounds?" she asked, not entirely believing the words were coming out of her mouth. "Or do you have another date with the punching bag?"

He tilted his head and looked at her. "I could hurt you," he said. There was no arrogance in his voice. And no exaggeration—she knew his strength.

"I trust you." She took another swig of water and put it down. It was already starting to get warmer in the room so she accepted the fact she'd be topless for this endeavor and got back onto the map. "And if you slip up, I've been hurt before."

He kicked off his shoes. "Natasha did this once. Told me confidently that my caution in not wanting to harm her would give her all the edge she needed."

That certainly sounded like Romanov. "Well, I didn't want to tip my hand that early."

Slowly, they began to circle each other. "I let her win."

Romanov would probably not appreciate that. "Are you going to let me win?" she asked, studying the way he moved for any tells. "'Cause I won't bother with my A game if you are."

"You going to murder me in my bed if break your collarbone?" He rolled his shoulders. "She scares me."

"I'd worry more about Doc if you break my collarbone. She specifically told me not to damage any of the trainees."

"You're not a trainee." He made a move she dodged. "And I am also scared of Doc."

"I will concede Doc is scarier than me." She bounced on her toes and went at him, just like Aunt Peggy showed her. Because if she was going to spar with Steve Rogers then, dammit, she was gonna make it count.

She landed a blow, and he made a surprised, impressed face at her. And then they were on for real. It resembled nothing so much as a street brawl, only with their punches pulled a bit. And usually in a brawl you were too panicked and adrenaline soaked to enjoy yourself. With the actual fear of injury gone it was a hell of a lot of fun.

Even when he managed to knock her off balance she was laughing, using her momentum to twist her body, catching him behind the knee with a foot. He hit the mat and she pressed her advantage, pinning his shoulder with a knee. He pushed off with his elbows, an impressive show of strength if she ever saw one, and flipped her off of him. She grabbed what she could, which turned out to be his shirt, yanking it up and trapping his arms. It gave her the second she needed to scramble up and out of his reach.

Steve bounced to his feet, spreading his arms as he went, ripping the shirt clean in half.

Well, if the sight of him with his shirt off hadn't caused a little ember of arousal to bloom in her belly, the shirt ripping certainly would have. The two together made less of an ember and more of a wild fire. She certainly wasn't laughing anymore; breathing hard, half crouched a few feet from him. It was now almost sauna like in the room; she could feel sweat trickling down her spine and sticking her hair to the back of her neck.

Very slowly, she shifted her weight and saw him respond, moving with predator's grace. That didn't help the wildfire at all. His abs were literally glistening right now. She should not be expected to concentrate right now. It was practically inhuman, really.

His eyes moved, and it took her a moment to realize they were not calculating but appraising. He was looking at her body. She was, of course, just as glistening as he, clad in tiny spandex shorts and sports bra. Clearly he'd noticed.

She felt herself grinning, aware that her irregular breathing was not entirely from exertion. Trying not to telegraph the move, she darted towards him, aiming to take out his legs again. He was ready for her, dancing away from the blow she aimed at his knee. She compensated, hooking her foot behind his ankle. He locked his leg and caught her before she could spin away, big rough hand sliding over the slick skin of her back. He pulled, and she crashed into his chest. His knee gave this time, and they went down together. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact, and then they rolled, each trying to get purchase. 

There wasn't much she could do to counteract the leverage greater body weight gave him. They ended up with him on top of her, his chest to her back as she lay face down on the gym mat. He had a knee wedged between her legs, pressing her hips down so she could buck him off.

It took her a moment to assess her situation. She was still evaluating whether or not she had enough upper body strength to push herself up when she realized there was a very definite, very noticeable bulge pressing against her ass.

Her brain short circuited. The very logical, calm, big picture thinking part that knew they had a rocky history, who wanted to remind her she wasn't even entirely sure he liked her and that they worked together and that he had once been her great-aunt's boyfriend was currently not functioning. The part that was still working was the part that was lonely, and lost, and really just wanted to feel something, even if it was a stupid idea. So she had only that part to blame when, instead of trying to break the pin, she lifted her hips and rubbed herself quite deliberately against that bulge.

She felt him shudder, and a sharp inhalation and exhalation of breath. He rested his head on the back of her shoulder for a moment, and then she felt his lips press against the nape of her neck. It caused a shudder of her own and she bent her head, giving him more room.

They stayed just like that for a few moments, breathing hard. The fire in her had turned to a hot ache and she lifted up to him again. "Sharon," he whispered, his voice making it sound like a prayer.

Relieved it wasn't a protest or warning to stop, she twisted a little, reaching back to touch his face, fingers skimming along his jaw. "Please."

He pushed up on his arms a bit, enough he wasn't pinning her, enough she could clearly flip him off if she wanted to. It was a silent check, an option to stop—but he didn't move far enough to make her think he wanted to stop. It was, if she wanted it, her opportunity to win the fight.

She should stop. Flip him off and walk away and maybe - maybe - they could pretend it never happen. It was the smart thing to do. But God, she didn't want to. She didn't think she could stand how empty and lonely her house would be.

Instead she rolled, staying exactly where she was, but able to see him now. His face was mostly in shadow, but she could fell him studying her. She reached up, sliding her hands up his chest, letting her nails scrape over the skin lightly. His eyelids dropped at her touch, and then he dipped his head, clearly moving slow as if she might still say no. He nuzzled her cheek, and then her mouth, and then they kissed.

It sent heat through her. It started out just on the border between tender and passionate, but it grew intense almost immediately. She sank her hands into his damp hair and he lowered himself, so his chest pressed against breasts, nipples hard and sensitive, poking against the fabric of her bra. She moaned a little into his mouth, the sound helpless and needy. It was the kind of kiss that probably qualified as sex itself. One of his hands moved down her side, over her skin and fabric, sliding up her thigh. She obligingly lifted her leg to give him better access. She wrapped her leg around him, and then felt his fingers slide under the bottom edge of her shorts.

The soft skin of her thigh blazed with sensation. She made another desperate noise and his slid his hand up farther, rucking the tight spandex up. His fingertips grazed the hair protecting her sex and, based on his groan, she was even wetter than she'd thought she was.

"Yes," she whispered when he lifted his mouth enough she could breath. "Fuck, yes." Generally she wasn't particularly chatty during foreplay, but she wanted to make it _very_ clear she was on board with this.

He pushed up one one arm again, lifting off her so he could yank the shorts down. She was half surprised he didn't just rip them. The move made his muscles do some amazing things she couldn't help watching. He was just. . .perfect.

She slid a hand down to stroke him again just as he brought his hand between her legs again. Callused fingers parted her folds and stroked her, deliberate and intimate. Her hips lifted of their own accord and she heard something like a whimper come from her throat. He pressed his thumb against her clit, intent on his task. She lifted again and again, grinding against his hand, getting herself closer every time she moved. But it wasn't quite enough, not yet.

He bit off a groan. "Can I. . .?"

As soon as he said it, it was all she wanted. Him inside her, taking her higher, that last bit she needed. "Yes," she said, urgent. He'd only gotten he shorts down to her knees and she reached down, trying to yank and kick them all the was off. "God, yes, please."

"Fuck it," he muttered, and then the did rip them, tearing the spandex like it was tissue. They still hung off one leg, but were out of the way, so she turned her attention to shoving his sweatpants down. He stilled and closed his eyes when her fingers wrapped around his cock. After he opened them again, she hooked a leg over his hip and guided him inside her. The first thrust was rough and hard, and they slid on the now-slippery mat.

Good, it felt so good. She wrapped her arms around him and he lowered his head to kiss her again. It was rough and intense, a mimic of his thrusts. He overwhelmed her, surrounded her, in the best of ways. 

The pleasure that had grown hot and tight in her belly began to tighten further and she could feel how close she was. She broke the kiss, arching, head falling back. "Steve. Don't stop. Please." Something inside her seemed to snap and give way and she cried out, hips bucking, muscles clenching and throbbing around his cock as her climax crested. "God, _Steve_."

He answered her with a desperate groan and a couple of fast, hard thrust. He hitched her leg up for a better angle, seeking his orgasm as she rode hers. He gasped and then she felt the shudder and the heat.

When he was spent he slumped, pressing her into the mat. She nuzzled his throat, feeling limp and languid, body still pulsing a little with the aftershocks of her pleasure. He made a humming sound in response, nuzzling against her hair. Eventually he lifted his head and looked down at her. He didn't seem to know what to say, and neither did she. So he just kissed her again, with a slow tenderness that she didn't expect.

She cupped his face, touching him with the same tenderness they put in the kiss. She didn't want this to be awkward. Didn't want them to stutter around apologies or excuses. She felt good, and happy. That hadn't happened in a very long time.

When he lifted his mouth, it was just a little. Just enough to whisper, "Thank you."

Warmed by the words, she stroked his cheek with her thumb and replied, just as soft, "You, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon continues to have a night many of us only dream of.

Eventually Steve pushed up a little on his arms. "Are there cameras in here?"

Oh, sure, _now_ he was concerned. "No. Not in here or the showers. The door will have logged us coming in by not what we did."

His grin was crooked. "We were sparing."

She laughed. "Are we calling that a draw?"

"I certainly hope so." He shifted to pull his sweats up and then rolled back onto his knees. He reached to touch the remnants of her shorts. "I'm sorry."

Using her hands, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, then reached down to peel off the scraps of Spandex. "It's all right. I have my work slacks in my bag." Her sports bra, while pressing uncomfortably on her now sensitive breasts, wasn't even askew. "You ruined your shirt, too."

"Suppose it could have been worse, considering." He got to his feet and held a hand out to help her up. "That was the most fun I've had in a gym in years."

She barely had to put any effort into standing, he all but lifted her onto her feet. Looking up at him, her chest suddenly felt tight with some emotion she didn't have a word for. The closest she could come up with was 'gratitude.' 

"Me too," she said, embarrassed that her voice cracked a little on the words. She cleared her throat and looked away.

There was a moment of silence and lasted long enough it was almost awkward. "I don't know if you'd planned on showering, but I turned the heat on in the men's locker room."

She was actually a regrettable level of sticky. Also, maybe she'd get another look at him mostly naked. "That sounds nice," she agreed, managing a normal tone.

He walked over to where her bag was and scooped it up, then held out his hand for her again. She slid her hand into it and together they walked to the men's lockers in a remarkably companionable silence. He set the bag down on the bench and went over to the showers, going into the larger handicapped stall. A moment later the water came on, and his pants sailed past the curtain. "Hot water's up," he called. "If you want to come in here or your own or what."

Sharon tried to think of a reason to get her own stall. Apparently logic brain still wasn't working because none came to her. She glanced upwards. _Whatever I did to deserve tonight please give me a sign so that I may do it more frequently._

Yanking her sports bra off over her head, she undid her ponytail and slipped into the handicapped stall that was already starting to fill with steam. He was standing there, back to her, naked in the shower stream. It was. . .quite a nice view. He grinned over his shoulder at her, then turned. "I have to admit, this was my preferred option."

Of course, this view had its merits as well. He really was like some sort of statue, lovingly carved from marble, every line and arc in stark relief. If there was any fat on him at all she couldn't find it. And, while she was making an effort not to stare, he appeared to already be half hard again and even that was impressive.

She stepped closer and he reached out and suddenly she was under the spray with him, caught in another heady kiss. Against her mouth he murmured, "I really wanted to see you naked."

"Ditto," she whispered. He turned them so the water wasn’t striking her directly in the face, then resumed kissing her, hands roaming her body, sliding in the water. They just kissed and explored each other for a while, the desperate urgency from before gone. 

Then he broke the kiss, and reached over to the wall dispenser and filled his palm with body wash. "It's very manly smelling," he warned her.

She actually knew that. Hill had insisted that the bath products in the women's locker room smell nice and girly. They'd then gotten manly products for the men's room. It had a woodsy scent that she and Hill had decided, ironically, reminded them of Steve.

"I won't let anyone smell me before I get home," she said with a crooked smile. Apparently satisfied, he brought his hands back to her skin and started to soap her up. Her lids fluttered and she stifled a groan, not really sure why it felt better with the soap. Maybe because his hands moved easier, or because his fingers dug into muscle here and there. He cupped her ass, making her squeak a little as she came up hard against him. Then his hands slicked over her hips and across her stomach and she lifted her gaze to watch his face. He grinned, like he knew what he was doing to her. Then he crouched down to wash her legs, pressing a random kiss into her belly while he was down there.

He lifted one foot, then the other, rubbing a knuckle along each arch in a way that made her want to suggest forgetting this whole sex thing and just have an equally satisfying foot rub. He nudged her, so she stepped back and stood fully in the spray, letting the water rinse off all the suds. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up into it. 

He soaped her hair next, with the slightly more neutral smelling shampoo, and a scalp massage ensued. This was really, really not how she would have expected the aftermath of spontaneous floor sex to go.

When her hair was clean and rinsed it seemed only fair to return the favor. She could feel him watching her as she rubbed soap along his back and shoulders and over his pecs and abdomen. Normally not the most patient person on the planet, she was determined to be just as thorough as he'd been. But after kneeling down to run her hands down both legs she found herself eye to eye with a seriously impressive erection and decided patience was for other people. 

She looked up to find him watching her intensely. She gave him a crooked little grin and saw his eyes darken as he realized what she was thinking. Holding his gaze, she leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock, tasting salt. Then she slid her tongue down the underside, before taking him into her mouth entirely. He groaned, bracing his arms on the tile wall behind her.

There was something intoxicating about driving a man crazy this way. Just with her lips and her tongue and occasionally teeth, she had him reduced to incoherent groans and growls. She worked him up until his hips were rocking, chasing her when she pulled back to rest on her heels. She watched his elbows almost give before he caught himself, and his voice was rough when he said, "Stand up."

She did so, in one smooth motion that left her caged by his arms, between him and the wall. He plunged his hand into her hair and turned her face up, the kiss urgent and desperate. She groaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. He bent slightly and she felt his hands under her thighs. He gave a little warning squeeze, which she answered with a little nod. She jumped and he lifted and then she was up, legs wrapped around his lean hips, back pressed into the tile wall. He was strong enough to hold her completely so she could relax, and shift a little so he could slide inside her.

Still sensitive from their first round, she had to break the kiss to gasp, then suck in a shuddery breath. She didn't know if it was the position or the sensitivity, but everything felt better, more intense. He felt bigger. She sank her hand into his hair and gave his shoulder a little squeeze.

He lifted his mouth just a little. "Okay?"

She nodded and gave him a light kiss. "You're a lot to handle," she murmured, sucking his lip into her mouth. "In a good way."

He pulled out slowly, and pushed back in just the same. "Good."

If felt amazingly good, better than it had out in the gym and that had been pretty damn good. She closed her eyes, tipping her head back against the wall as he kept up the slow, deep pace. He pressed a kiss to her throat, hitching her higher and somehow the new angle got him even deeper. "Fuck," she breathed.

He shifted her a little so he could hold her with one hand under her ass—he could hold her body weight with one hand—so he could bring the other up to cup one slick breast, flicking his thumb over her nipple. It tightened, sending a jolt of sensation through her, like a string connected directly to her clit.

He teased one nipple, then the other, till they were both hard and peaked, so that even the water running off them gave her pleasure. This was a slower, higher climb to her climax and he seemed to have the patience of a saint, as once he found the angle that worked for her he kept up the exact same slow pace. 

Slowly, something started to tighten and twist inside her. Her legs shook and it was hard to keep them wrapped around him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. "There," she whispered. "Right there. I'm so close, please, please." She wasn't even sure of what she was saying, just that she wanted him to know it felt good, that he was doing incredible things to her.

He held her with both arms again, and pressed deep inside her so his pelvis ground against hers. "I gotcha," he ground out.

She cried out, then again when he repeated the thrust, and then she was coming, hard. Her legs lost their grip and she clutched at his shoulders, trusting him to hold her up. Pleasure consumed her, roaring in her ears. She got lost in it, back arching, thrusting against him, till he was the only thing in the world. His arms holding her and his hard chest pressed to her and the thick, hot length of him inside her. She was dimly aware of him growling her name and pushing her back against the tile as he followed right behind her. He turned and staggered back, landing on the shower's wooden seat with her in his lap.

It took a remarkably long time for her to form coherent thoughts. His arms were wrapped around her like a vise, supporting her. Otherwise she'd probably be in a puddle on the shower floor. She thought about making a joke about not doing that around power lines for fear of shorting out the city. But then it occurred to her that they probably shouldn't be doing it anywhere after this. This needed to be a one-time thing. They were coworkers with a complicated history, to say the least. 

The thought caused a bitter sweet pang, chasing away a little of her euphoria. Still, she lifted her head and kissed his mouth tenderly. "This is definitely the best gym experience ever."

He brushed the wet hair off her face and sighed. "I know tomorrow is probably going to be awkward," he said. "But I. . . really needed this."

She smiled, feeling an odd moment of kinship with him. "So did I," she admitted. "Thank you."

Steve just held her for a bit. "I didn't put conditioner in your hair."

Chuckling, she kissed his shoulder and tested out climbing off his lap. "It's fine, I'll put some oil in it when I get home."

He squinted at the shower wall as he stood. "There's a dispenser. I knew there had to be, Bucky uses this gym."

"Bucky uses conditioner?" She had no idea if that information would come in handy, but it still seemed worth knowing. She stepped back under the spray to rinse off the new sheen of sweat she'd acquired, among other things. "I suppose that would explain why you know about it."

"Why I know conditioner exists? That's more a Natasha thing. But it did get to listen to Bucky griping about the lack of conditioner in the Stark gym. Doc likes his hair long and apparently it gets tangled."

Sharon wasn't entirely sure what she found funnier: that Doc preferred her boyfriend long haired and scruffy or that Steve spent his time listening to hair product complaints. She waited as he took his turn rinsing off and turned the water off before stepping back into the dressing area.

There was a stack of fluffy white towels provided and they both took one. Steve gave himself a perfunctory rub down before tying it off at his waist and grabbing another to help her dry off. That led to her sprawled out on a locker room bench, as his long, callused fingers brought her to a final, sweet, shivery orgasm. Like a dessert at the end of a rich meal. At this rate he was going to spoil her for all future lovers.

Finally, she managed to get her clothes on, bending to fluff her hair dry. It was probably going to freeze on the way to her car.

He was dressed now, loitering in the doorway to watch her. "So. . . I realize it's a little late to ask this question. . ."

She pinned her hair up with a clip and started digging in her bag for a hat. "Hmm?"

"You have some sort of. . . contraception?"

Hands stilling, she glanced up at him, then went back to her hat hunt. "I have an implant. Standard procedure for female SHIELD agents that Doc is continuing. And that was rather late to be asking." Aha! Hat. She pulled it out and tugged the dark knit cap over her head. "But you were rather distracted."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You just seem like someone who'd have that covered. And actually I haven't been with a woman in a . . . very long time."

_Don't ask. Do not ask. Do_ not _ask him if the last woman he slept with before you was Peggy._ "Um. Decades long?" _Goddammit, Carter._

He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. "Yes."

She covered her eyes with a hand and took a moment to let her brain go through all the awful, terrible questions it wanted to ask but she refused to give voice to. She was going to live her entire life not knowing how her sex skills compared to her aunt's if she had to cut her tongue out. 

When the madness had passed she zipped her bag shut. "Well, it was well before SHIELD fell for me. I suppose if we don't count the years in the ice we're pretty much on par."

"That's not—I mean—" he rubbed the back of his neck, then cleared his throat. "So, I have no idea if this is going to make you feel better, or worse. But she wasn't the last _person_ I've slept with."

She stared at him a moment as that processed. "Oh my God, a dozen historians just felt vindicated and don't know why."

Sharon thought he'd laugh, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and said quietly, "No, not really."

That also took a moment to process. At first she thought maybe he was concerned she was going to sell her new information to the papers or something. Then it clicked. Historians didn't speculate he was queer in a vacuum, there was a particular childhood friend they consistently paired him with. And in what little interaction she'd had with Barnes, he read as pretty damned hetero. "Oh." She blew out a breath and rubbed her eyes. "Okay. First, I'm sorry I dragged that up. Second, I promise I don't kiss and tell. Third, I feel like we should say goodnight before completely wrecking the good will we've built."

"Nothing is even slightly wrecked. Unless you don't let me walk you to your car. Then I'll feel like a jerk and the ambiance will be ruined."

She smiled, feeling a bit of the old ease come back between them. "I wouldn't mind company to the car."

He pushed off the wall and then offered her his arm, like they were on a proper date. She tucked her arm into his and he took her bag from her when she tried to sling it over the other shoulder. Shaking her head a little at the move, she hugged his arm closer as they walked out. They let go, mutually, when they reached an area with security cameras. Outside he flinched a little and hunched against the cold wind. 

A furrowed brow and glare from him warned her not to suggest he didn't have to walk her. "I'm parked close," she said instead starting towards the nearby lot. They walked all the way to her car, and he insisted on clearing off the snow that had fallen while she was in the gym. 

Then he took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I suppose I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"I suppose so." She unlocked the car and tossed her bag in. The open door broke the wind for them a bit. "Unfortunately, there are cameras out here. So it might not be the best idea to kiss you goodnight. But-" She reached out and took his hand like she'd shake it, sliding her thumb along the back of his hand. "Goodnight, Steve."

He squeezed her hand. "Goodnight Sharon."

She didn't want to go home. She wanted to drag him into the SUV with her. She wanted to offer to keep him warm. She wanted this to not be a vaguely awkward one-time-thing.

Instead she nodded, released his hand, and slipped into her car, starting the engine. He waited until she'd pulled out and was headed for the road leading to the front gate. When she glanced in her rearview mirror she saw him trudging back to the apartments.

She was so tempted to turn the car around.


	5. Chapter 5

When Steve had lost his virginity - a rather uncomfortable, anticlimactic affair with a disappointed fangirl - he'd walked around a couple of days certain that someone would be able to tell just by looking at him. Surely there was some sort of sign over his head declaring his new status. When he and Peggy had started up their clandestine affair he had been equally certain there was a new sign declaring said affair to the world. Neither time had anyone come over and read his secrets.

But now, surely someone would notice the neon sign hovering over his head declaring "I had sex with Sharon Carter in the gym. Twice. And a half." He was waiting for a sky writer to show up.

"You okay?" Bucky asked as they went over the day's training schedule. "You're preoccupied."

Steve blinked at him. "What? No. I'm fine."

Bucky's concerned look turned skeptical. "Really? What did I just say?"

"You told me I was preoccupied."

Skeptical turned to glare. "Before that."

"Um." He cleared his throat. "Right." Meetings with Bucky were probably really bad times to be remembering what Sharon looked like sweaty and panting, pinned beneath him. Or how her skin had felt under his hands. Or the desperate sounds she made when she came.

Baseball statistics. Think of baseball statistics.

"Amanda has convinced me not to bug you about joining us for Christmas," Bucky said, cutting through the images. "If that takes anything off your mind."

"Are you spending it with the Newburys?"

He shook his head. "No, we were going to spend it here. I'm to inform you that you are more than welcome to join us but we understand if you would be uncomfortable or feel like a third wheel." It was said in a rote, sing-song that reminded Steve of when Bucky would relay messages from his mother to neighbors or teachers.

"I'm pretty used to being the third wheel at this point. And I like you guys."

That got a little smile. "She's knitting you a stocking. Apparently there's a family tradition thing. When I poked she got huffy and prickly so I think she's adopted you or something."

The thought of a hand-knit stocking touched him. "If there's a stocking involved I kind of have to."

Bucky grinned. "I'll let her know. And make sure the guest room is comfortable for you." He and Amanda had moved in together after coming to Ithaca, into a house older than Bucky that needed a lot of TLC. He spent most of his free time working on it. When it was done it would be beautiful. Steve had privately wondered if it was a little early to be moving in together, but if Amanda was willing to living in a work-in-progress for him, maybe it was true love.

He knew Bucky had wanted a life and family after the war. Steve had too, of course, he just hadn't expected he'd get it—and after he woke up from the ice, he'd let himself get distracted exploring the things that had been taboo in his youth. He should be happy Bucky was getting his happy ending. Amanda was good for him, tough and smart and not at all like the girls Bucky had dated when they were younger.

But still, it was hard being the third wheel again. Amanda seemed aware and sensitive about it, even if Bucky could occasionally be dense. He should probably be happy some single friend of Amanda's wasn't going to show up at Christmas dinner. 

Somehow, despite what he'd gone through, everything Hydra had put him through and the long recovery after, Bucky had managed to pick his life up right where he'd left it. To build a future in a time Steve still couldn't find his place in.

He fought the sudden urge to tell him about Sharon. As if maybe then he'd stop looking at him with sympathy. As if it would somehow indicate Steve was doing _something_. But he wasn't, was he? It was just a one-night-stand—in a long string of those—and that was it. As amazing as it had been, it was what it was. It wouldn't ever involve Christmas dinner.

He went the rest of the day without seeing her, as well as the next. He spent the weekend wondering if she was avoiding him and if so, should he try to say something about it. Neither of them actually worked _for_ the other one. He didn't know if there were fraternization rules in the new organization but if there were he doubted they were particularly strict or stringently enforced.

On Monday he was on his way to meet Sam and Amanda to go over some of the cross training they'd been doing, when he ran into Maria Hill and Sharon in the hallway. They had their heads bent over a stack of files Sharon was holding, but both looked up when they heard him coming. Hill gave him a nod, but Sharon smiled, warmly and sincerely and said, "Good morning Captain."

The smile honestly just about made is day. And so he grinned back and said, "Neighbor."

She actually chuckled at that. "Stark just checked in, he's coming in later this week with some new equipment. I blocked out some time on your calendar."

"Oh, nothing's quite as fun as a Stark visit. I'll be ready, thanks."

"All part of the service," she told him, then bent her head back to Hill's as he continued on his way. And that was that, no awkward vibe, no casting about for small talk. Just two coworkers and a normal conversation.

The first place his mind went was. . . maybe they _could_ do it again. He quickly squashed that idea. A bullet had been dodged and he should be grateful for that.

Stark's visit was distracting, breaking up the monotony of Steve's days. They had two official meetings and several meals together, catching up. Stark was egotistical and arrogant, but he was also a good friend and a very proud father. He even managed to get Steve to promise to come and visit him in California after the first of the year. Mostly by showing him the weather report declaring it 70 and partially cloudy in Malibu.

The weather took a turn for the worse after Stark left. Steve found himself pushing the heat in his apartment to its limits but never seemed to get rid of the last of the chill in his bones. He found himself going to they gym in the evenings, not even admitting to himself why. But he found it empty each time and tried to tell himself that was for the best.

Then one evening he was examining the contents of his pantry and wondering how guilty he might feel if he made some poor delivery guy drive out all this way, when there was a light knock on his door. He went over and opened it.

Sharon was on the other side.

When she saw him a series of emotions played over her face, settling on something like embarrassment. "Hi. Sorry. Am I bothering you?"

"No, not at all." He stepped back. "Come on in."

For a moment she looked like she still might bolt. But then she came in turning as he closed the door behind her. She glanced around the room and he was acutely aware that he hadn't really done anything to personalize the space since move in. She turned back to him, clasping her hands in front of her and twisting her fingers. He tried not to let that remind him of Peggy.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I probably shouldn't have come up here. I just. . . didn't want to go home."

He watched her for a moment, then said, "It's really cold tonight."

"Supposed to get into the single digits," she agreed. "Not including wind chill."

He nodded. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Some company might be nice."

She smiled, relaxing a little. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Steve smiled back, feeling tension he hadn't known he was carrying drain away. "I was just about to order some takeout."

"Don't trust the Chinese place," she said, shrugging out of her winter coat and then her dark grey sweater, leaving her in suit pants and a blood red shell. "Do you like Indian? Saffron Coast is run by actual Indian people and is to _die_ for."

"That sounds delightful." He paused. "I'm from a time where people considered Italian food 'exotic' and 'ethnic'."

She grinned at that. "Want me to order for you?"

"Yes. Clearly I trust you." In more ways than one.

Her expression softened and she nodded, digging her phone out to call the restaurant. He went back to the kitchen to make sure he'd closed his cupboards and find them some drinks.

They'd order dinner and chat. Maybe talk about work. There were some things he'd been meaning to run by her. He could tell her about his meeting with Stark. Perfectly platonic. No reason he should start picturing her sprawled out in his bed, just because she was in his apartment.

When he went back to the living room he found her on his couch, heels kicked off to tuck her feet up underneath her. She was checking something on her phone, but smiled and put it on the end table when he handed her the soda bottle. "Thanks," she said softly. "Dinner will be here in forty five minutes, give or take."

He sat beside her. "What will I be eating?"

"I got butter chicken, saag paneer, which is a vegetarian dish made with spinach and cheese, and a mild chicken curry. With rice and naan and some appetizers." He must have made a face because she laughed and stretched a leg to poke him with her toe. "It's better than it sounds. Have faith."

"Well. Hill would probably fire you if you killed me, so. . ."

"I think she'd be more impressed," she retorted which made him chuckle. It was an easy segue into actually discussing work, including her assessment of the recruits she'd been working with. By the time the food arrived - just over an hour later, the roads were terrible - they had his computer out and were seriously discussing the logistics of a mentorship program between her team and his.

"I know she doesn't look it," Sharon was saying, unpacking the take out boxes as he cleared off his dining table. "But I really think Bishop would be a good match for Barnes. She's got some demons in her past but she's got that inner calm of a sniper."

"Isn't she the one Hill hired because she wanted somebody who could shoot a bow and arrow?"

"Yep. Kid was taking out muggers in Central Park from a perch in a tree. She needs more training and some discipline. And a smack on the back of the head. But she's got potential. More than just about any of the rest."

"Might be able to convince Barton to do a little training for that."

She looked at him, obviously surprised. "Hill was pretty adamant that we not bother the Bartons."

"You and Hill can't bother the Bartons. Bucky and I certainly can. Ship her out there to pick olives and shingle the roof or whatever needs doing. And shoot things. He'll probably make her learn how to use his longbow."

They sat at the table and Sharon started dishing out the food. "I doubt Katie will say no to a free trip to Italy. If Barton’s up for it then I think it'd be good for her."

"Their farm is very. . . soothing. I complain about the trip, but I'm grateful every time I go out there."

"I doubt I'll ever have a reason to go out, but Hill has promised me some of Nat's soap as a Christmas gift." She loaded up a piece of naan with chicken and some creamy cucumber salad. "I do envy them. Finding a happy ending despite the odds."

He sampled everything, which was delicious. "Wow, I really thought this was going to have no heat to it. Thumbs up." She raised her eyebrows. "Don't look so surprised. I spent however many years working with a guy who spent half a decade in Kolkata. Hazmat worthy Vindaloo."

She laughed a little, shaking her head. "Who-?"

"Dr. Banner. He was hiding there for a while, working as a doctor in the slums." He sighed. "I like to think he went back to doing something like that, and is not, you know, at the bottom of the ocean."

"From what I hear Fury always regretted bringing him in. He is a man that respects the desire to be left alone." She leaned back in her chair, sipping her drink. They had moved from soda to beer after the food had arrived. "According to his file the Hulk is more or less indestructible. I'm sure he swam to shore, found people who needed him."

He was quiet a moment, just letting his mind turn. Sometimes he felt like his life was on a loop. Find a team, get it working, everything ends, start all over. He wondered sometimes how many times he'd do this. He wondered how close the day was that Bucky decided his life, his family, was more important than trying to save the world. When Stark announced his retirement, he joked he was going to take a page from Barton and buy a farm. Steve wondered if he'd ever see the day that sounded feasible for him, too.

Warm, callused fingers curled over his. He looked up to find Sharon leaning over the table to comfort him. He was aware his pause had brought down the mood of the room. He should probably apologize for that. But she gave him a little smile and a squeeze on his hand and he thought maybe an apology wasn't necessary. Maybe she had her moments of melancholy as well.

God, this was such a terrible idea. They should finish their meal and she should go home. Two coworkers eating dinner. That was all it was. All it could be. But it was cold and he was lonely and that night in the gym he'd actually remembered how to feel happy and. . . alive. So he gave her hand a little tug.

She got out of her chair without hesitation. Because who was he kidding, she hadn't come here because she wanted company for dinner. If this was a terrible idea than at least it was one they were sharing. Another tug got her around the table and a third had her in his lap, straddling his thighs, knees balancing her on the chair. Her shell was soft and warm, slightly damp with sweat where she'd been leaning back in her seat. It was very warm in here.

He could feel himself relaxing, just having her this close. He sifted his fingers into her hair and pulled her close enough to kiss. Her mouth was soft, the kiss tender and fond. She sank into him, bracing her forearms on the chair back behind him. The last few times in the gym he'd thought of her when smelling the woodsy, masculine soap. But now she smelled of something exotic and rich but distinctly feminine. Jasmine and orchids and spices. It made him think of moonlit gardens and tasseled pillows and heavy embroidered fabric.

"Is this a bad idea?" he whispered against her mouth.

The question made her lean back a little, enough he could see her face, dark eyes soft and a little sad. "Probably." She stroked his hair even as she spoke. "We're complicated. Beyond just being coworkers. There's politics and history and I can't - I'm not looking for anything." She bit her lip and asked softly, "Should I go?"

He was already shaking his head. He'd always tried to do what was right, and where had that gotten him? "I don't want you to go."

"Oh thank God," she breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. This one had a taste of the urgency and need they'd shared in the gym. He ran his hands over the slippery fabric of her shell, and then tugged it upwards. She broke the kiss and lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. Her bra underneath it was also red, a few shades darker than the shirt had been. It was also remarkably lacy and sexy considering it had been on under her work clothes. He could see her nipples clearly peaked against the flimsy fabric.

He traced his finger along the lace edge. "Is this what's always under your work clothes?"

"Yes," she murmured. "I change when I'm doing training anyway so. . . I like how it makes me feel. My armor."

"Now I'm going to be distracted every time I see you."

She smiled, slow and sexy. "Good." Trailing her hands down his chest she added, "Thank you for not ripping my shirt."

"Oh, I learned my lesson about being careful with silk." During the war, when a silk shirt had been quite literally irreplaceable. Though, actually, he _really_ hoped she didn't ask for that story.

To his surprise, she started laughing, hard enough he wondered if she'd already heard the story from the other side. Then she shook her head and tugged his shirt off, muttering, "This is very weird." Which all but confirmed it.

"We should probably just make peace with that."

She nodded, apparently distracted by his bare chest. Trailing light fingers over his skin she looked at his face. "I imagine it's weirder for you. I heard stories, you lived it."

"But for me it does not involve. . . family members."

"That's true." She bent and kissed his jaw, then below his ear. "Promise to never say anything along the lines of 'huh, that's just how she used to do it' and I think we can table the discussion."

"You are unique," he told her, running his fingertips up and down her spine, before unhooking her bra. She leaned back a little to let it slide down her arms and he got his first clear, well lit, look at her breasts. Perfect handfuls, with dark, rosy nipples he recalled being very responsive, a fact confirmed when he brushed a knuckle over one and it peaked, making her shudder. "I want you," he whispered, needing her to understand. " _You._ "

Biting her lip again, she searched his face, maybe looking for a lie. He supposed as a spy she knew how to find one. After a moment she nodded and cupped his face, kissing him. "I want you, too," she murmured against his mouth. "It's just us here tonight."

He stroked her skin slowly, just enjoying the way she felt. "I want to touch you everywhere. Kiss you everywhere."

Her breath stuttered a little. "Yes, please." She kissed him again. "Can that happen somewhere other than this chair?"

"I was picturing you stretched out on my bed for this activity, yes."

She moaned, apparently at the mental image and moved to get off him. "Show me."


	6. Chapter 6

He caught her before she could leave his lap, and stood up smoothly with her in his arms. It got him a little squeak. He carried her to his bedroom and lowered her onto he mattress. Then he set about peeling off her clothes.

Her work slacks had a needlessly complicated fastening and she was laughing a little breathlessly by the time he got it undone and had tugged the grey wool down her legs. Her underwear matched the bra, red lace stretched across her hips, barely covering the dark curls hiding her sex. That was not going to help his future distraction.

The lace panties went the way of her slacks and then she was naked, sprawled on his bed, just as he'd pictured when she first arrived. He could see faint tan lines, suggesting a bathing suit that would have been heart-stoppingly scandalous in his youth. He filed the image of her in a bikini, lounging in the sun, away for a future lonely night.

That night at the gym had been incredibly hot, but it had still been rushed sex on a gym floor, and then in a shower stall. But now he had such an intense desire to do this _right_. It was probably best he didn't examine that too closely.

He could start by exploring her, just as he'd planned. Leaning over her, he smoothed his hands over her sides, avoiding her breasts for now. She had a broad, flat scar on her ribs, underneath her left breast. Experience told him it was a knife wound. There was an older scar on the right, just above her hip bone, that looked surgical. And another, a ragged white line on her forearm. He supposed, because he'd met her doing relatively harmless undercover work, it hadn't occurred to him she would have battle scars.

He kissed each one, feeling an odd pull of sadness that he would probably never know their stories. But when he ran his lips along her forearm, she said softly, "I got that the day the Trisk fell."

He looked up at her. "I never doubted which side you were on."

She laughed a little. "Good." Glancing at her arm, she added, "I tried to stop the carriers from going up. Rumlow was holding a gun on a tech and I thought the other agents and I could get him to stand down. For a moment he did, but it was just so he could get to his knife." Her gaze flickered back to his face. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep them down for you."

"If you bought us 30 seconds, it was the difference between success and failure. That's how close it was."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she managed a little smile. "It might even have been a whole minute."

"Well, then." He leaned down to kiss his stomach. "I definitely owe you." Her lids fluttered and she arched a little, lifting into his kisses as he trailed them over her skin. When he moved down one leg she murmured his name and shifted restlessly but he didn't change his pace or his path. He wanted to memorize her. The way she looked and felt. Her scent, her taste, the sounds she made. Imprint it on his permanent memory, for nights like this when she didn't just appear miraculously at his door.

But he had to learn her first, so he did, taking his time to map and explore.

When he was done, when he had touched every bit of her body with his hands or his mouth or both, he leaned back to study her again. She was breathing hard, fists gripping his covers, trembling all over. It seemed to take her a moment for her to notice he wasn't touching her anymore. When she did, she slowly lifted her lids, eyes dark and cloudy with pleasure. "Please," she whimpered. "Please, please, please."

He nudged her legs apart, and kissed her sex. Her hips came up off the bed, and she gasped. He wasn't in any more of a hurry than he had been before, so he stroked her with his fingers and traced little patterns with his tongue. Her pleas got more desperate, until they sounded tinged with sobs.

Slowly he zeroed in on her clit, listening to her until he found just the right rhythm and pattern. Her hips started lifting in time with his licks and she started to moan. "Oh God, God, _Steve._ " She was so contained at work. Crisp suits, warm smile, hard-ass trainer. He felt a spike of pride and pleasure that he could shatter all that, unwind her until she was crying out, heedless of who might hear.

She said his name again, almost screamed it, then covered her mouth with a hand, smothering her cries as she came, pulsing against his mouth and hands. Her whole body shuddered and arched and he slowed his licks, drawing out her pleasure, watching her come apart.

He kissed the inside of her thigh and listened to her try and catch her breath. "Yeah. Exactly that."

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, covering her eyes with a bent arm. "Fuck me, you're good at that."

He chuckled, climbing up the bed. "Why, thank you. And, likewise."

When he was stretched out next to her she rolled enough to wrap an arm around his neck and kiss him. "I'm serious, I saw stars."

He pulled her against his body. "So am I, and I've been in a San Francisco bath house."

She laughed, bright and happy and sounding oddly young. "High praise indeed," she murmured. He felt her hands on his fly, clumsy but effective. "Is that a request for an encore? Because I really need your pants off and you inside me. One way or another."

"That can wait." He kicked his pants off, and then rolled them so she was on top of him. "Though I _am_ going to make you do all the work."

"Seems only fair." She straddled his hips and sat up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She lifted up onto her knees and reached down, fisting him and stroking his length as she got him into position. She notched him at her entrance then released him and slowly slid down his length in one smooth motion. He watched, mesmerized as she began to move. The view somehow enhanced how good it felt.

Her hands roamed her body, gathering up her hair, cupping her breasts. She tugged at her nipples till they were stiff and taunt. He was aware she was putting on a little bit of a show, but since it was for his benefit he could hardly complain. The pleasure became an ache, pushing him further with every roll of her hips. But he hung on, not wanting it to stop. "You are so gorgeous," he told her.

She grinned. "So are you." She leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, changing the angle. It must have done something for her because she shuddered and moaned, moving faster. After a moment, she brought her hand around to touch herself, stroking her clit. He felt her inner muscles clench at the first touch and knew she was close.

He should probably help her, but she seemed to have it under control and watching was just so damn hot. And his brain was shutting down now, the whole world narrowing to the wet heat of her surrounding him, to the slide of her movement.

Her movement got rapid and rougher. Then she cursed and thrust down hard, grinding against him, hand trapped between them. She shook, and deep inside she clenched around him, again and again. She was still, and he couldn't stand it, reaching to grip her hips and thrust up to her, chasing his own climax as she was swallowed by hers.

She was shaking, but she kept herself braced on him, rocking with him as he rode it out. When he'd relaxed, she slumped down on his chest, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He rubbed her back, floating and feeling the slow, irregular pulsing of her aftershocks.

It was a long, long time later, when both of them had calmed, when she slipped gracelessly off of him. She didn't go far, cuddled against his side, one leg tangled with his. He touched what skin he could reach. "Screw it," he murmured. "This was a brilliant idea."

*

Sharon forced herself to wake up before dawn, despite not getting a tremendous amount of sleep. Steve was. . . well, insatiable was kind of a cliche but if the shoe fit.

He was still sleeping soundly next to her, one arm slung around her waist. There was nothing in the world she wanted so much as to curl back up into his heat. Maybe have one more round of intense, earth shattering sex. But she had a nine am meeting and she needed to go home and shower and change before that. Maybe squeeze some breakfast in there somewhere.

She slipped out from under his arm and padded to the bathroom, then back out to his living room to retrieve the rest of her clothing. One night stand etiquette called for a note at least, but she went back to the bedroom to drop a kiss on his forehead.

He stirred, and sighed. "Gotta go?"

"'Fraid so." She brushed hair out of his eyes. He held himself with such poise and gravitas, sometimes she forgot he really wasn't any older than her. Right now, he looked like a sleepy golden retriever, and God did she want to climb back into bed with him. "Thank you for the company."

"Warmest winter night I've had in a long time," he said.

She smiled and crouched down so they were on the same level. She sensed there was something more to that than light flirting, but didn't want to explore it. Despite intending to make a clean exit and leave this here, she said, "Well, if you ever want to spar. . . you know where to find me."

His eyes searched her face. "You haven't been there since," he told her. Which seemed to mean he'd gone and looked.

There was no reason she should feel horribly guilty about that. She'd been busy and still processing what had happened and not sure if he would be there or not. They hadn't made any promises. Quietly, she said, "Sometimes I can be a bit of a coward."

"I'm sorry." He reached up to touch her hair. "You don't owe me anything."

Turning her head, she caught his hand and kissed the palm. "I don't want either of us to owe the other anything. I don't really think I have anything to offer, anyway." She looked back at him, holding his hand to her cheek. "But if this happened again - for whatever reason - I'd be happy."

He grinned. "Good. Me too."

She nodded and kissed him. "Have a good day, Steve."

"You, too," he replied.

Sharon left before the desire to rejoin him became too strong. She drove home in the eerie, pre-dawn light getting back to her cabin far later than she'd hoped. After a fast shower and tossing on some clothes she grabbed an energy bar and a thermos of coffee before running out to make her morning meeting.

Her good mood didn’t waiver, even in the face of boring meetings and bureaucratic men in suits who all but patted her head. She wrapped the memory of Steve's hands and mouth on her, worshipping her like she was precious and rare, around her like a cloak and let everything just wash off her. 

Of course, fantasizing about your illicit affair with a coworker was perhaps not the best thing to do when working with a mind reader.

"You're in a very good mood," Wanda said when they met in the gym for her training session. Something must have shown on Sharon's face because the younger woman held up her hands. "I'm not snooping. It's coming off of you like an aura."

She felt her cheeks heat. Of course it was. "I just. . . I had a good day. Yesterday."

God knows what she was blasting Wanda's head with. Possibly something smutty from the look on the other woman's face. "Indeed."

The smart thing to do would be to change the subject. Instead, she found herself saying, "There's a guy. But it's complicated." She rubbed her eyes. "Christ. Come on, I'm going to teach you to punch things today. Apparently I have some energy to get out."

"A guy is good," she said encouragingly. "Company is nice this time of year."

"Yes," Sharon agreed as they walked to one of the side rooms. The company had been as nice as the sex. If the evening had ended with dinner and conversation she would have been almost as satisfied. He was good to talk to, good to bounce ideas off of. She didn't have that here. Hill was usually willing to brainstorm, but they tended to come at things from the same place. Hill didn't have Sharon's legacy, but she'd come up the SHIELD ranks the same way Sharon had. They were both spies, agents. That was the lens through which they saw the world.

Steve was neither of those things, never had been, really. So when she'd talked about finding her recruits more guidance, of course he'd been eager to jump on the idea of mentors. And hadn't questioned her suggestions for pairings.

She showed Wanda how to wrap her hands to prevent injury. "I'm not looking for anything more than company. But it was a nice interlude."

"Sounds like it was good sex."

There was no reason she should be blushing this badly. She was a grown woman, she could have sex if she wanted to. Hell, Wanda was a grown woman too. And if they wanted to gossip about Sharon's conquest - as long as names were not mentioned - what harm was there in that? "It was excellent sex," she confirmed. "Several times."

"Oh, good for you," she said with a grin.

Wanda sounded so sincerely happy for her it was impossible not to grin back. "I have no complaints." They were both taped up and the punching bags were hung. Sharon weighed her next words carefully. Some people kept careful distance between trainer and trainee. And certainly she wouldn't have had this conversation with any of her recruits. But while she was training Wanda, experience and age wise they were far more equal than she was with any of the recruits. And it had been a really, really long time since she'd had a girlfriend to gossip with.

So she asked, "Any men on your radar?" as they stepped up to the bags and started warming up.

Wanda made a face. "I have discovered, since becoming a telepath, that mens' thoughts are kind of gross."

"Oh my God." She shook her head. "I wish I was surprised. Directed at you?"

"Well, in general, but I seem to hear them the loudest and clearest when they're directed at me. Makes dating awkward. And it just feels, I don't know. . ." She sighed, punching the dummy like Sharon showed her. "Like some people think really loud. Stark spent half his visit thinking about his late night agenda. I could hear it at some distance. But I can't really think ill of the man for having smutty thoughts about his own wife. It's like overhearing phone conversations."

Immediately, the thought came to her to ask if Steve thought loudly. Just as immediately, she squashed it, for fear Wanda would hear it. It was none of her business what or who Steve thought about. She'd been with him twice, there was no reason to expect he'd be thinking of her. And if he was, surely Wanda would have mentioned it when she'd talked about a man last night. 

Still, she couldn't help clearing her throat and asking, "Does anyone else think loudly?"

"In general or about smutty things?"

"Either or, really." She reached over and put a hand on Wanda's shoulder so she'd keep it down for her next punch. "Your powers seem like they would be fun to borrow," she said honestly. "Even though I understand they'd be overwhelming in the big picture."

"Ramirez is really loud, and he thinks smutty things about me. And you. Sam is loud but polite, as is Cap."

She was giving Ramirez an extra lap tomorrow, just on principle. "I don't imagine Sam has smutty thoughts about anyone with boobs," she said delicately, gauging Wanda's reaction. Sam wasn't particularly flamboyant, nor was he in the closet. And if there were going to be issues she'd rather handle them than he or Steve. She had no idea what Sokovian social norms were.

"I did know that," she replied. "You'd be surprised how varied people's attractions are, though they rarely wish that to be known. Base emotions are louder. Love, hate, lust, fear. If you stood, say, Cap and Natasha next to each other in bathing suits and walked all the people in this complex past them, I could tell you where everyone is on the. . . Kinsey scale, I think it's called."

"Yes, that's the one." She stomped out the picture of Steve in a bathing suit like it was a brush fire. "Am I loud? Generally?"

"No, not at all. Which is unfortunate, as I am a very curious person an would love to know who you're boinking."

Sharon had to laugh at the choice of words, which helped hide any reaction she might have had. "I'm sorry. There's certain. . . factors. I can't kiss and tell."

"I understand. Unless it's Ramirez, in which case I'm really disappointed."

"First of all, ew. Secondly, I'm his trainer. Third, mixing work and sex only works out if you're Clint and Nat. And that took a decade." Sharon wondered how loud lying and hypocrisy were.

"Seemed to work for Stark and Pepper. And Amanda and Barnes." She paused. "And Cap and Peggy Carter, if the legend is to be believed. Hey, are you related to her?"

It was a bit like having cold water splashed on her. Or possibly running out in the snow in her workout gear. She called on all of her spy training to control the reaction as much as possible, summoning her smile. "She was my great-aunt, but she helped raise my dad, so it was more like a grandmother. I heard all her old stories." She turned to her own bag and took a couple of hits. "The legends are most definitely true."

"Was a sad ending, that," Wanda said. "So many people here have sadness in them." She punched the dummy. "Though actually some has cheered Cap up lately, now that I'm thinking about it." She shrugged. "Maybe he'd gettin' some, too." 

No reaction. Breathe in and out. You know how to resist torture, you can do this. "Well, if anyone deserves some happiness, it's him."

That evening, she poked her head into the gym, but found it empty. She tried not to let it hurt, but felt oddly vindicated when she found out the next morning that he, Barnes and Rhodes had been called away on a mission. They were back two days later and Sharon attended the briefing, taking notes in anticipation of any media fall out. She noticed Steve cast her a couple of appraising looks that heated her skin.

When they left the room she made a point of walking next to him. He glanced down at her and she whispered, "Silver," twitching her blouse collar to give him a view down her shirt to her bra, before striding ahead of him to her next commitment.  
 She was not at all surprised to have company at the gym that night. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is all this plot doing in my porn?

This was shaping up to be the nicest winter Steve had had in ages. Maybe since before cold wind gave him nightmares. He and Sharon fell into a pattern, meeting at the gym—usually to actually work out—and then either taking a shower together, or going up to his place for something more leisurely. There was something about working out side by side, watching the other get sweaty and possibly losing clothing, that they both seemed to find arousing. After the first few times, she started keeping spare clothes in her office, so she wouldn't have to run home before dawn prior to work.

For the most part, they kept it strictly after work. Yes, there was some meaningful looks at meetings or in the hallways. And she seemed to delight in whispering her bra color to him, sometimes at the most inopportune times. Intellectually, he knew trying anything during working hours, when the buildings were teeming with people, was dangerous. That didn't stop him from occasionally picturing dragging her into a storage closet, or developing an extremely inappropriate fantasy of her coming into his office and ducking under his desk where she could tease him in secret.

He made a conscious effort not to think about any of these things anywhere in the vicinity of Wanda Maximoff.

Sharon went home to see her family for Christmas, and he missed her far more than he really wanted to admit. It was just sex, right? And yet when he spent the holiday with Amanda and Bucky, he had the strongest urge to tell him about Sharon. There was no way he would understand, or ever, _ever_ let go of her connection to Peggy. He'd read something into it that wasn't there. Just thinking about trying to explain it made Steve feel frustrated and tired.

Christmas itself was fine. Amanda had, in fact, knit him a red and white candy stripe stocking, which she'd then filled with hand-knit socks and gloves for him. Bucky did rope him into helping with some household repairs, but it was nice having some time with him alone, working side by side like they had in his dad's work shop when they were kids.

He went back to his apartment on New Years Eve, over Bucky's protests. He and Amanda deserved some time alone and a week of being the third wheel was too long. It also happened to be the day he knew Sharon was coming back up from Virginia. They hadn't made any plans, of course, and he fully expected to ring in the New Year alone.

There was a knock at his door just after ten. Sharon was road weary and obviously hadn't had as relaxing a vacation as he had. He didn't press, just invited her in. They welcomed 2017 in bed, naked and tangled, Sharon gasping his name.

In the middle of January, something about a report about an apprehended arms dealer that crossed his desk struck him as odd. He called Hill and asked her if she'd seen it. She told him she'd look into it. She walked into his office two days later and said, "Yeah, we have a problem."

"How bad?" Though he was pretty sure he knew.

She tossed a new file on his desk. "Looks like there's a regular cottage industry converting reclaimed Stark tech into very powerful weapons."

He flipped through it. "Going in guns blazing would be a bad idea. Really, anything engaging a fight."

"Send Maximoff to scramble some heads?" Hill offered.

"No. No way she's ready, not alone." He studied the dossier. "You know who I really need? Romanov."

Hill tilted her head. "Bring Carter," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He looked up. "What?"

"Carter. Sharon Carter," she clarified. "She doesn't have the adolescence of Russian abuse, but otherwise she's as close to Nat as you're gonna get. If SHIELD hadn't fallen she'd easily be level eight by now and god knows she got field experience with the CIA."

It was a dangerous mission. That made him apprehensive about sending Sharon, for reason both obvious and best left in his subconscious. But none of them could he tell Hill. And he knew Sharon would been deeply offended if he'd kept her off something specifically because they were sleeping together.

Hill was checking her watch. "She should be wrapping up with the rookies soon. I can go get her up to speed if you want."

"Yes," he heard himself saying. "That would be good, thanks."

"On it." And then she was gone and it was too late to think of a reason to change his mind.

The sun was starting to set and he was starting to wonder what kind of reception he might get at their sparring session tonight when Sharon materialized in his doorway, holding a manilla folder. "Do you know about this or is Hill channeling Fury again?"

"I. . .authorized it, actually. I need a decoy in a slinky dress who can take down six Ukrainian goons if it goes sideways. Nat's retired."

Her wide grin almost - almost - made him feel better about the whole thing. "I do look good in a slinky dress."

"It's very dangerous," he said. "This is a request, not an order."

She came in the room, closing the door behind her and moved to lean a hip on his desk. "I appreciate that, but I hope you're not under the impression I haven't been on dangerous missions before. It wasn't all playing nurses and doing laundry."

"That mission would have been way more fun if there had been a slinky dress involved."

"Well if it wasn't for stupid Hydra who knows what could have happened?" She hopped onto the desk, swinging her legs. "I'd offer to help me pick out the slinky dress, but I don't think we have time."

His office didn't have cameras. He'd checked it very thoroughly for bugs, too. So he let himself reach out and touch her bare knee. "I trust you."

She looked at his hand, then back to his face. "I have excellent taste."

"Be careful out there," he told her, which felt like the least he wanted to say—but also the only thing he could.

"I'm always careful," she said softly, leaning down to kiss him. "Don't worry about me."

He would. Of course he would. But maybe telling her would be too much. "We'll have your back."

"I trust you." She shifted a little. "I know it's early. But I could be convinced to spar before starting my dress hunt."

He slid his hand slowly up her thigh, beneath her skirt hem. This was so, so dangerous. "People are in the gym."

Leaning back, she braced her hands on the desk behind her. "That's a good point," she said, watching his face. "And someone would see us if we tried to go to your place."

His fingers reached the edge of her underwear. She hadn't told him the color today, but he knew it was the good stuff. He could feel the lace-edged silk. "We'll just have to take a rain check."

She swallowed hard. "That's too bad. If we're busy with the mission it might be a while."

He pushed the fabric aside so he could touch her, and she parted her legs for him. "I guess we'll have to wait."

Her breath stuttered and her hips rocked a little as he stroked her. "You like making me wait," she said softly. "You like when I beg."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then he sank his fingers into her. "Yes."

Her muscles clenched on him, hard enough he wished it was his cock inside her and not his fingers. For a few moments the only sound was her rough, harsh breathing and the rustle of her skirt as it brushed his sleeve. Her hips started rocking again, lifting up to him.

"I've thought about this," she whispered. "Coming in here and fucking on your desk. Having you bend me over one of the conference tables." Her head snapped back. "Fuck, Steve, I'm going to-"

Knuckles rapping on the door froze them both. Sharon looked at him with wide eyes, and he could feel her practically quivering around fingers. Jesus, what the hell were they doing?

He cleared his throat. "Hang on," he said, then louder, towards the door, "I'm on a call."

Bucky's voice came through the door. "Real quick, we still on for our workout tomorrow morning? Hill said there might be a mission."

God. Of course. "There is. Come back in 20 for a briefing."

"Got it." He tapped the door again in a little pattern, then Steve heard him walk away from the door. Sharon slumped back, catching herself on her elbows with a sigh of relief.

He withdrew his hand. "Fooling around in the office, not a good idea."

"Yeah," she breathed. "That was dumb." She slid off the desk with none of her usual grace and smoothed her skirt down, hands trembling a little. "I'll go prep for the mission. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I suppose you'll want a good night's sleep. . ."

Her indecision was visible. "Much as I would like you to relieve this ache and not my vibrator, yeah, it's probably better if I sleep in my own bed."

He closed his eyes, wishing he'd told Bucky longer than 20 minutes. "I am going to spend the night _thinking_ about you and your vibrator."

She grinned and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Play your cards right I'll let you meet Mr. Buzzy after the mission."

He turned his head, and kissed her mouth with way too much heat for the current venue. But he really couldn't help himself. She sank into it, then very slowly pulled away, straightening. She gave herself a little shake, then took a step back from him, as if afraid she was about to climb in his lap, Bucky be damned. "I'll see you in the morning," she said softly, reaching behind her to open the door. 

Steve really couldn't form words right then, so he just nodded. Something like regret - or maybe longing - crossed her features. Then she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

*

If she was being honest, Sharon was kind of excited to be doing covert ops again. There was something very comfortable and familiar about being in an expensive cocktail dress at a party with a bunch of black market mucky mucks, a tiny earpiece tucked deep inside her ear. The champagne was really good, the company less so. 

Somewhere in this ugly mansion there was a desk with a computer that would tell her where the weapons were being manufactured. She just had to find it.

"Look," Sam was saying in her earpiece, "Steve and Hill kept referencing Romanov, so that's what they bought. Romanov's boobs." The team was having an open discussion about whether the pushup bra they'd put her in was garnering too much attention.

"What do you know about boobs anyway?" Bucky asked.

"Not this again."

"I vetted the outfit," Wanda said. "And I was also told Romanov was what we were going for. She supposed to be distracting, that's how it worked. There's a reason why you didn't send me."

"You have perfectly nice boobs, Maximoff," Sam replied.

Very quietly, she heard Steve mutter, "Jesus Fucking Christ."

While they were yammering, Sharon had made her way upstairs, pretending to look for a bathroom. The bathroom was crowded, mostly with women snorting coke. Wandering farther down the hall, she found a bedroom - occupied - and a billiards room. The crowd had thinned out enough she felt comfortable talking. "I feel the need to point out that getting Romanov's boobs to look like Romanov's boobs and getting _my_ boobs to look like Romanov's boobs require entirely different infrastructure. If I do have to fight someone there's a better than average chance one of these is going to pop out of my dress."

"Not a word," Steve said immediately, to the rest if them. 

"Yeah," Bucky said. "This is a professional environment."

"I intend to report you all to HR when we get back," Sharon said, opening another door to reveal an office. Jackpot." "Except you, Wanda," she added, checking the hallway before slipping inside. 

"No," Wanda said. "I was picturing your boob, as well."

"Steve wasn't," Sam said. "He's in Cap mode. Captain America doesn't look at boobs."

Sharon had to physically bite her lip to stop any comment from spilling out. She did make a mental note to reference this conversation at a later time. "I found the office," she said instead.

"Get in, get out," Steve said, all business. "And everybody shut up, it could be bugged."

She probably shouldn't find the Cap voice that hot. It would be wrong to ask him to order her around like that in bed. Roleplaying was beyond the scope of their current relationship. Though he did like to tease her, maybe he did have certain inclinations that leaned that way.

After a circuit of the room to check for any hidden doors or safes, she went to the huge wooden desk and opened the lap top. It was password protected, as expected, and she clicked open her clutch to dig out the usb drive that would unencrypt it. A few minutes later she was in and quickly downloading files onto a different flash drive. Everything was here, factory locations, client lists, even some schematics. They'd be able to shut them down easily with all this information.

Then she heard the door click.

The files were still copying. She needed to buy at least a minute or two. So she wiggled up her skirt and hopped on the desk, plastering a sultry smile on her face. Two guys in black suits stepped inside and she made sure they were looking at her before she let the smile drop. One of them snapped out something in Ukrainian, which she didn't speak, but the intent was pretty clear.

"You're not Bruno," she said, sticking her lip out in a pout.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" 

Neither of them matched the description of the arms dealer, so she stuck with the drunk-and-possibly-high party girl routine. "I was supposed to meet Bruno."

They both came into the room to look her over. Lecherous looks indicated they were mentally undressing her. Perfect. "He's not here."

"I guess not." She sulked again, then brightened as if she'd just gotten a brilliant idea. "But you two are. And you're cute." Turning to face them, she kept herself between them and the lap top. "Are you brothers?" They shook their heads. "That's too bad. I like brothers."

"For you, we can be brothers." They reached her and one put a big, hot hand on her thigh, where her skirt had ridden up. 

The one on the right was bigger, with a nose that had been broken at least a couple of times and scarred knuckles. The one on the left was carrying more weight, still big, but softer and with a slight limp. She was mentally mapping out her plan of attack when the one on the left leaned down to kiss her and spotted the open laptop behind her. 

In the heartbeat of silence that followed, Steve's voice was in her ear. "Barnes is in position but doesn't have a clear shot. Herd them in front of the windows."

Helpful, but also a very poorly timed distraction.

Left straightened abruptly, reaching into his jacket as he said something in Ukrainian that made Right jerk his head back. Right's hand was still on her thigh and she grabbed his thumb, yanking it back as she lifted her other foot to kick the gun out of Left's hand. "Herding no longer an option," she said.

Right had hit his knees when she broke his thumb and she jumped off the desk and kicked him in the head before he could react. His head bounced against the corner of the desk and he went down, bleeding from a wound in his temple.

"Need us to come in?" Steve asked. "Maximoff," he said.

She answered back with, "Yeah, on it."

"I'm fine," Sharon snapped, turning to face Left just in time to dodge a punch from a meaty fist. She ducked another, moving towards the closest window. He didn't play along, going for his gun and she had to run forward, kicking it out of the way. She was in no way in control of this fight, and that was a very bad thing.

He had no training or refinement, but he did have six inches and a hundred pounds on her. She focused on blocking and dodging, trying to map out a path to get him into position. Her hip hit the desk and she faltered enough that he got in her defenses, managing to get a hunk of hair in his hand. He yanked and spun, slamming the side of her head into the wall.

Stars exploded in her sight and everything went grey and blurry. She staggered, managed to lash out at his knee with a foot, getting him to dance away from her, before she completely lost her balance and hit the ground.

The next thing she knew, Steve was calling her name with increasing alarm in her ear. She turned her head to a wave of nausea and saw Left sprawled on the ground, bullet hole in his forehead. If she'd missed the gunshot coming through the window she must have been out for a second. Not very long, based on the blood pool. But she could tell from Steve's voice that he was about five seconds away from crashing through the door downstairs with his big, obvious shield.

Okay. She needed to get up. She needed to finish the mission and get to the extraction site. Strong is getting up. Get it together, Carter.

With a truly herculean effort she got up to her hands and knees. The room spun and her stomach flipped over. She just barely managed to lurch towards the wastebasket to vomit into it. Retching made her feel like her head was being split in two but when she was done she almost thought the pain had receded a little. At least enough to respond on the comm. "I'm here. Please talk softer."

"Can you get to the window?" Bucky asked. His voice was quieter than Steve's.

"Yeah. Hang on." She grabbed the edge of the desk and hauled herself upright, closing her eyes as the room spun again. When it had more or less settled, she pulled the now full flash drive out of the computer and tucked it in her bra. Distantly, she realized both of her breasts has stayed put during the fight.

Not entirely sure about her balance, she kept a hand on the desk as she shuffled to the window. She was delighted to see Sam floating on the other side of the broken glass. He landed on the ledge and broke out the rest of the glass for her. "I got her," he said as he helped her out of the window. For his trouble, she puked on him.

She didn't really remember the trip from the mansion to the jet. She did manage not to vomit again, which she considered a triumph of a sort. Once they were airborne Sam crouched in front of her and started an exam, shining a light in her eyes and asking her questions. Thinking made her head throb, but she managed to answer them and by his reaction she didn't get anything egregiously wrong.

"Definitely a concussion," he declared when he was done. "Doc's meeting us at landing and can do a more thorough exam. Your pupils are responding normally, and you're not showing any signs of major brain trauma. Let's get some ice on that lump and I'm gonna need you to stay awake until we get home."

She could see Steve hovering behind Sam. The bright colors of his shield were hurting her head a little bit. Wanda came and sat beside her and started chatting with her about anything she could think of, helping to keep her awake. Despite her efforts, and how much she liked Wanda, it was the single longest flight of Sharon's life. Putting the ice on hurt more than it helped. She was nauseous but with nothing left in her stomach, she bit down on it because the gagging made everything worse. The ride on the jet was fairly smooth, but the sense of motion still made her dizzy, so she mostly stared at a single point on the floor in an effort not to pass out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure none of you saw this coming at ALL.

When they landed, she was immediately ushered into a wheel chair and taken to the infirmary where Doc repeated the exam Sam had done, with the addition of a little scanner and some prodding to her head wound that caused more stars to explode in her vision.

Doc snapped her gloves off and checked something on the computer terminal she'd hooked the scanner into. "Well, good news is you don't have a skull fracture or any major brain bleeding. Bad news is that's a pretty good concussion. I don't think you need to be admitted to a hospital but you will need some sort of monitoring for the next twenty-four hours minimum. Someone to wake you up periodically, ask you questions and call me if anything changes with your symptoms. Do you have any family nearby or-"

Sharon rubbed a hand over her eyes. God she wanted a nap. "No. They're all in Virginia."

"I really can't let you go home without someone to watch you." She paused. "You can come stay with James and I. The guest room is still intact."

Closing her eyes, Sharon fought the urge to start crying. Doc and Barnes were perfectly nice people, but she didn't really know them, at least not enough for them to play nursemaid. She wanted to go home, to her bed and pajamas and couch. Where she could be miserable in peace and privacy. Ironic, considering how often she had avoided going there at the end of the day.  
 That thought made her open her eyes and search out Steve, who was looming in the doorway of the infirmary room. He made eye contact, asking a silent question. Then he said, "Nobody should have to be sick in somebody's guest room."

Oh, her head hurt too much to think of all the repercussions to this. "I'd rather be in my own bed."

"I got her into this mess," Steve said. "I'll crash on her couch tonight and then check on her over the weekend."

Doc turned to look at him as well. "You'll need to wake her up every three hours or so, make sure she's alert and responsive. No reading, no work. Nothing stressful until the headache and other symptoms go away."

"After that?" he asked, voice and face carefully neutral.

"I'm putting her on mandatory leave for a week, but once the headache is gone she can resume normal leisure activities. I wouldn't recommend the crossword, but television or light reading is fine. No exercise, but normal everyday activities, cooking, laundry, things like that. After the first twenty four hours she can sleep the night. I can't give her any strong pain killers, only Tylenol and ice, if she tolerates it. The skin's broken where she hit the wall, but doesn't need stitches. Light meals to start with until her stomach settles, then she can eat what she likes."

Normally, Sharon would be horribly offended at Doc addressing all this to him. But she really only followed every fifth word of it and was sure she wouldn't be able to repeat any of it ten minutes later. Which Doc probably knew, hence why she was telling Steve everything. Doc was now telling him to call her if any of the symptoms got worse or if she started to slur her words or have balance issues. Closing her eyes suddenly seemed like the best idea ever.

A few moment later she heard the words "no less ridiculous" but didn't know what sentence they belonged to. The she was lifted up into Steve's arms. She had just enough sense left not to do anything affectionate. But she did wrap her arm around his neck to hold herself closer. That seemed reasonable.

He put her in her car and drove her home. She felt sick again, and when she opened her eyes in panic there was a plastic bag already sitting in her lap. Truly, this day could not get anymore humiliating.

She did her business in the bag, tying the top off when she was done. She felt clammy and overheated but knew how the cold bothered him, so didn't open the window. They were almost to the cabin, anyway.

When he pulled into her driveway she didn't even wait till he'd turned the engine off before opening her door to breath in the cool air. He came around her side of the car and crouched down, helping her out and then scooping her up. He murmured, "It's okay, we're alone," to her.

That was all the prompting she needed to wrap both arms around him and curl closer. "Thank you for coming."

"If there's one thing I know well, it's being sick and injured." He'd apparently dug out her keys, because he unlocked the door on his own. Her place was messy and the small part of her that cared pondered the error in her earlier thought about humiliation. Steve's apartment was _painfully_ neat.

Fuck it, she was pretty sure he'd seen worse than socks on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink. Bed was calling to her, but there was blood in her hair, she was sweaty and grimy, still in her cocktail dress with a spare pair of BDU pants pulled over it. And, if she was honest, she could still feel the Ukrainian meat head's hand on her leg and it was grossing her out. "Can I have a bath?"

"Absolutely." He carried her to her couch and set her down on it. "Stay here, I'll be back. Where's the bathroom?"

She pointed to her bedroom door on the same wall as the living room fireplace. "Through there."

He nodded, and after that she heard clanking and thunking, and eventually the water came on, which caused the pipes to do some clanking of their own. Steve came back out and puttered about, getting her ice and Tylenol and going back and forth to the bathroom. Somehow he'd found her towels, as they were folded neatly on the sink when he insisted on carrying her in. 

There were numerous downsides to a vintage house, which the winter was teaching her. But one of her favorite things was the big cast iron claw-foot tub, which now filled with warm water and bubbles provided by her favorite bubble bath. He must have opened and sniffed each of the copious number of bottles in there until he found the familiar one.

He undressed her with the utmost care and tenderness, but without so much as a whiff of intentions.

"This is not how I pictured you peeling me out of that dress," she admitted as he eased her down into warm water.

"Believe me, I know." He sat on the floor next to the tub. "I don't think I should be leaving you alone in here."

She found a wash cloth and started rubbing her arms. "Can you help wash my hair out?" she said. She was capable of doing it herself, but he was damn near vibrating with the need to do something with himself. 

She had to admit, he was very gentle, and the scalp massage on the non-injured parts was very nice. He rubbed her neck and shoulders, too. That, plus the warm water and familiar, comfortable location made her sleepy. Her head still hurt, but it felt distant and unimportant. Sleep had its fingers dug into her, tugging her down.

Dimly, she was aware of him lifting her out of the water and wrapping her up in her towels. He carried her into her bedroom and sat on the bed with her in his lap to dry her off before tucking her into her snug flannel sheets.

She caught at his hand as he moved away. "Don' sleep on th' couch," she mumbled, suddenly very concerned he was going to leave.

"Oh," he said softly, reaching to pet her hair. "No, I wasn't going to. I'll be here."

"Mmm. 'K." She closed her eyes. "You can use the fireplace. If you're cold." Second to her claw-foot tub for favorite features, was the functioning wood fireplace in her bedroom, sharing the chimney with the living room one. It had been very useful on the nights she'd spent here. "Don' want you t'be cold."

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No." She currently was the most comfortable she'd ever been. "But you have bad dreams when you're cold."

"I have to stay awake to look after you," he replied. He leaned to kiss her forehead. "But I will build us a fire."

"Mmm." Satisfied he wouldn't sit and fret the whole time she was asleep, she patted him vaguely and let sleep claim her fully.

*

Steve built a fire, and perused Sharon's books for something to keep him entertained while she slept. There was a major storm coming in, so he checked her provisions to make sure they'd be set. He found a kit she'd clearly set up for such a purpose, and pulled it out so he'd be able to access flashlights and candles.

He woke her every three hours, as Doc has ordered, and asked her questions. Outside, snow began to fall.

The third time he woke her up she said she felt well enough to eat something and stay up for a while. She was overdue for some Tylenol and certainly seemed noticeably more alert, so he agreed to make her something, if she agreed to stay in bed.

When he returned with a bagel and juice for her and some eggs and fruit for himself she had put on pajamas and propped herself up in bed with a bunch of pillows. The swelling on the side of her head had gone down a bit, but an impressive bruise was now spreading out from under her hairline.

"I swear I didn't get out of bed," she said. "This was all within reach."

He set the tray beside her. He'd stollen it from the coffee table where it had been holding odd and ends. It was probably supposed to be decorative, but it was handy. "You're one of those 'walk off a broken bone' people, aren't you?"

"I obey medical advice to the letter and no more." She held out her hands. "Food, please."

He handed her half a bagel, and watched her munch on it. The words that came out of his mouth surprised him. "That scared the hell out of me."

She looked over at him, eyes wide with surprise. She chewed a moment, then swallowed and said, quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You did good." He ducked his head, feeling embarrassed. "I didn't intend to question your skills." 

"I didn't do good. I did adequate." She poked at her bagel. "I let the fight get out of my control and it almost cost us the mission."

He looked back at her. "Those were two of Dzubenko's top lieutenants. If you'd been adequate you'd be dead."

She was still glaring at her breakfast. "I don't generally get held to the same standards as everyone else."

"That's good, because I'm holding you to the same standards as the rest of the Avengers."

Her head jerked up, which she seemed to immediately regret, rubbing her head. He couldn't read her expression, possibly because she was going through too many emotions at once. For an awful moment he thought she was going to cry. "I don't- I don't know what to say to that," she finally said.

"Say you'll forgive me for almost kicking the door down to come rescue you and blowing the whole op."

That made her smile a little, the little half smile he realized he only ever saw when they were together. "I forgive you. Mainly because while in reality I would kill you, in theory I find the idea of getting rescued by Captain America kinda sexy."

"That is not on the menu tonight," he told her sternly.

The smile got wider. "I know. I quite literally have a headache." She bit her bagel, then added, "But I'm looking forward to when it goes away."

"I have a nice excuse to be here, too. Though I couldn't fathom how to ask Doc exactly _when_ that would be ok."

Her brow furrowed. "I recall something about normal activities after the symptoms were gone?"

"But she said no exercise."

She stared at him a moment. He braced himself for an argument, possibly her accusing him of worrying too much. Instead, she popped the last bite of her bagel in her mouth, took a swig of juice, and scooted forward. Wrapping her arms around him, she leaned against his chest, settling her head on his shoulder. Intellectually, he knew she was tough and strong and well trained. But right now, in her thin cotton pjs, with her bruised face and slight weight leaning on him, she felt like something small and fragile he needed to protect.

"I'll make you a deal," she said finally, "I won't push myself or fight you on over exertion. If you please trust me if I say I feel well enough for some. . . gentle recreation. I don't want to lose this chance at privacy."

"I find that completely reasonable," he said, kissing her hair. "If we start and you don't feel up to finishing we can stop."

"Okay." She shifted a little, fingers stroking the fabric of his shirt lightly. "This is nice, too."

It was probably too much for their boundaries, but he found himself confessing, "I'm happy not to be alone during my first blizzard since the arctic."

Sharon lifted her head. "There's a blizzard?"

"Indeed." He climbed off the bed and went to open her drapes. It was gray and white outside, more of a blur than anything because of the wind and snow. A drift had formed against the bottom of the window.

"Wow." She slowly moved to the edge of the bed and slipped out, eyeing him. He didn't say anything, but watched her intently as she crossed the room to look out the window. "Yeah. This is a good time not to be alone."

"I came to check on you and go snowed in. It would have been irresponsible to leave you, given the weather."

"And you are most certainly not an irresponsible person." She looked up at him and reached up, going on her toes to kiss him, soft and sweet. He sighed, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. Yesterday and last night had been hard. He could never be one of those commanders who didn't get emotionally invested in his troops. He cared and worried about all of them, he always had. It had made waking up from the ice a hundred times worse, to have lost everybody. He'd done the same with the original Avengers, and was somehow still willing to do it a third time, now. So it would never be easy, putting people in danger, seeing them hurt.

But he needed to admit that Sharon was different.

He'd thought listening to her flirt with the Ukrainians had been vaguely nauseating. Then the fighting had started and she'd gone dark. Bucky had taken the guy out but couldn't see Sharon. It had been a very, very near thing, not rushing in to get her, mission and secrecy be damned. She would have killed him and the rest of them would almost certainly have ended up finding out about their affair. But she would have been safe. 

She was very carefully not starting anything with the kiss, but he felt bad she had to stretch up so far, so he scooped her up, carrying her back to bed so she could rest. When he had her settled in his lap she lifted her head a little. "If you ever mention this to anyone I will blame the concussion," she whispered. "But I was a little scared."

"Let me tell you something. I am scared all the damn time."

That made her smile a little. "It's not brave if you're not scared, right?"

"Appropriate fear keeps you safe. Makes you cautious and observant. Without it you have blind spots. Rhodes has a thing about how every time he put a fighter down on a heaving carrier deck at night, he was convinced he was going to die, and that kept him alive." 

"That seems like a perfectly reasonable response to trying to land a fighter on a carrier deck at night." She settled her head on his shoulder and he leaned back on her pillow nest. "I don't want to fall asleep again," she said, sounding somewhere between petulant and determined.

He rubbed her back. "We can just lay here for a while." He kissed her forehead. "Are you sore? I could rub your back."

"I'm a little concerned that will, in fact, put me to sleep. But I'll risk it. You have nice hands."

He turned and helped her lay on the mattress, on her stomach. "Take your shirt off, I'm going to find some lotion."

"There's some in the cabinet next to the sink," she called as he went in the bathroom. There were, in fact, half a dozen tubes of lotion in the cabinet. Sharon had an army of soaps and lotions, it seemed. He sniffed them all until he found one that smelled of the jasmine and spices he associated with her, then went back out to the bedroom to find her stretched out on the bed, topless, arms at her sides.

"Talking will keep you awake," he said as he started the massage. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

She sighed softly at the first touch and didn't reply immediately. "The fact I know you're read my personnel file rules out a lot." She paused. "I'm a photographer."

"What kind of photography?"

"Landscapes and city skylines, mostly. Anything that interests me. I always brought my camera with me on missions when I would have down time. I have something from every continent but Antarctica. Did you notice the pictures on the living room walls? Those are mine."

He dug his fingers into the muscles along her spine. "I'm impressed, those are very good."

She moaned softly and the sound shot through him, despite himself. "Thank you," she murmured. "I haven't had any time to do it here. Maybe when the snow stops I'll pop out the back door." Glancing over her shoulder, she added, "If that's allowed."

"Depends on if you're nice to me or not." He paused. "I draw. And paint. I think people probably know that, particularly with personnel file in the wild, but. . ." he shrugged. It's something he would tell her if he had any privacy, and sometimes he liked to maintain a facade.

"What kind of things do you draw?" she asked.

"Used to be all sorts of things. Whatever was around me, whatever I was thinking." He'd been trying. He'd drawn in Italy. The snow didn't help. He still hadn't felt much urge for colors anyway. He'd also done some sketches of her lately, but there was no way he'd tell her that.

Maybe there was something in his tone, but she didn't ask to see his work, which was usually the next question. They were both silent for a moment as he worked down her back. Then she said, "Can I ask a question?"

"I believe that is a generally accepted part of conversation."

He felt her chuckle more than heard it. "Did Peggy really shoot at you for kissing another woman?"

He laughed out loud. "My god. Yes. Though the woman kissed me. Literally grabbed my shirt and pulled me in while I fumbled awkwardly with trying to tell her No, Thank You. Peggy walked by, snarled at me, then later when I was testing my shield, she fired half a dozen shots at it while I quite literally cowered behind it."

Sharon turned to look at him. "Is that what the dents are? Where the paint doesn't adhere very well?"

He nodded. "There's a coating on it Howard had to put on it to get the paint to adhere. She shot it before he'd finished the coating, so they turned out to be permanent."

She smiled a little at that, resettling, with her arms under her pillow to hug it to her cheek. "She'd probably like that. Knowing a little part of her was still scarring up your shield."

"I showed her once or twice. Not much ever really stuck, by then." Visiting Peggy had been so hard. Like having a wound reopened again and again. Especially when she didn't remember that he was alive.

As if sensing his shift in mood, Sharon said quietly, "She forgot who I was a lot. After a while, I just stopped correcting her. Just responded to whatever name she wanted to call me."

"I think at this point I wouldn't want the dents fixed. Like a memorial. Or something." He looked down at her. "Do you find that weird?"

"No," she said softly. "Not at all. Actually. . . I have something. I haven't known what to do with it, but maybe you are the one to ask."

The context of conversation gave him pause. He and Peggy had never written letters, something he regretted after waking up. He had drawn her quite a bit, though he thought all of those had been accounted for. Originally he feared they ended up in the Smithsonian along with the rest of his stuff, or the SHIELD files. Then after New York, he'd gotten a phone call from a California number. The boys had raided his stuff after his death, and his sketchbook had been in Morita's attic, hidden from the world, for seventy years. He wondered if Sharon would like to see some of those, or if it would make her uncomfortable that he had them.

He'd been quiet so long she turned to look at him. "Sorry. Lost in a memory for a moment. What is it?"

She nudged him and he reluctantly let her up. She crossed to the built in bookshelves next to the fireplace, opened a little wooden box and pulled something out before rejoining him on the bed. He noticed she tucked the sheet up around her breasts as she resettled. Then she handed him the scrap of paper she'd retrieved.

It turned out to be a picture of him. Pre-serum him. Thin and hollow chested, with a nose too big for his face, squinting at something off camera. It must have been at boot camp, his dog tags were already hanging off his neck. The picture had obviously been well loved. The edges were soft and dog-eared, the bottom left corner ripped off and carefully taped over to prevent further tears. It had never been folded, which had saved it some damage, but parts had been touched so often the image had faded.

"Where did you get this?" he asked quietly.

"Peggy had it," she told him, just as soft. "Stole it from your SSR file in 1946. She told me once she looked at it every day. Even had me dig it out for her a few times when I visited her at the home, especially in the early days. When she died, the attending nurse called all the family and I was one of the first ones there. I knew her daughter would just throw it away, and Peggy wouldn't have wanted that. So I snuck it out when no one was looking. And was then sort of stuck on what to do with it since." She smiled and tilted her head to look at it. "She called it the only surviving picture of Steve Rogers."

"Not very many people knew him," he told her. "Which is still true."

Shifting a little closer, she rested her chin on his shoulder. "I wish I'd known him," she said. "Think I might have liked to go out for coffee. Talk about art."

Something in his chest ached. "I used to think he survived the ice. But maybe he didn't."

Sharon gave him a gentle squeeze, kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't want to upset you."

"It's all right. He would have been afraid to even try speaking to you." He looked over at her. "I was a mess inside. I was just good at hiding it."

"We're all messes inside. Sometimes I don't know how I muddle through the day."

"Having something to look forward to at the end of it really helps."

It seemed to take her a moment to realize he meant her, then she smiled brilliantly. When she spoke, her voice was choked with emotion. "You. . . our time together, makes me very happy."

He tucked some hair behind her ear. "Me, too. More so than I've been in a long time."

"I admit, I'd rather have avoided the blow to the head. But I'm looking forward to being snowed in with you."

He kissed her very gently. They had time. "Lay down, let me finish your massage."

"Yes, sir," she teased, releasing him to lay back down. He put the picture carefully on her night stand, then flattened his hands on her back again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. I'm moving on Saturday (finally!) and spent today packing like mad.

The back rub did, eventually, put her back to sleep. He cleaned up their breakfast dishes, dragged in more firewood and did some more reading. He woke her up again in three hours and she snacked a little more, but didn't have the energy to stay up again. The next wake-up put them at twenty-four hours after her injury. She took some more Tylenol obediently and pointed out, "You can sleep now."

Once she pointed it out, he realized he was pretty exhausted. But the wind was howling now, at a pitch that stirred dark things in the back of his mind. "I'm all right," he said.

Her expression indicated she saw right through him. Holding her sheets up she said, "Lay down with me. I'll rub your back now."

"You have a head injury."

"I'm not starting anything, Steve. You've been waking me up every three hours, so I know you haven't slept much, if any, plus you were up all day yesterday for the mission." She shook the covers. "My bed is warm and comfy. My feet aren't even cold. C'mon."

It was so very tempting. Maybe he'd just lay a bit. He didn't have to sleep. She still had pajamas on, that had to count for something. He tugged his shoes off and slid under the covers. Sharon reached across him, tucking him in.  
 The flannel sheets were soft and warm from her sleeping all day. They smelled of that exotic blend of flowers and spices that he associated with her, as did the pillow under his head. Sharon rolled onto her side and tucked a hand under him to rub his neck. "You're so tense," she murmured.

It felt really nice and he closed his eyes. "I hate this kind of weather."

Her fingers dug into the muscles on top of his shoulders. "Do you remember the ice?"

A shudder passed through him. He didn't talk about this. Not with _anyone_. "Yes."

Her other hand came over, stroking through his hair to rub at his scalp. "Do you want to tell me?"

He really didn't, but he found himself talking anyway. "The crash knocked me out. I don't know how long. When I woke up there was water coming in and I couldn't feel my legs. My hair was frozen, even my eyelashes. My skin felt burned, I don't know if it was from the crash or frostbite. I knew nobody could find me. Mostly I was mad the crash didn't kill me. So I was stuck waiting to either drown or freeze."

She sat up, keeping her hands on him to keep rubbing. "They say freezing is painless. Like sleeping." She leaned down, kissing his forehead. "Is that why you don't want to sleep when it's cold?"

He opened his eyes to look at her, feeling embarrassed. He'd had quite a few nightmares this winter, generally on nights she wasn't there to distract him. "It doesn't prompt the best of dreams." 

"Can I help?" she asked softly.

"Probably not. But the company is nice."

"I can do that." She leaned down and kissed him, soft and tender. Distracting enough to make a little of the darkness recede. "I'll keep you warm," she murmured.

He didn't know why that helped. She couldn't fight his demons for him, especially not the ones inside his own head. But he was so tired, and she made him feel safe. "I'm supposed to be looking after you."

"You did a really good job," she told him. "Let me take a turn, for a little while." She resettled at his side, tugging the covers up to his chin and curling next to him. "I'm here. It's warm. The fire's going strong. There's nowhere either of us has to be." She settled her head on his shoulder. "Just rest."

Her body tucked against his and her breath on his skin was the last thing he remembered before he drifted off.

*

When Sharon woke up, she found herself on her side, Steve curled up around her back, snoring softly into her hair. For a few minutes, she just luxuriated in the feel of his solid heat surrounding her. She wouldn't mind waking up like this everyday. That thought might have panicked her, but she was almost immediately distracted by the realization that her headache was gone. 

Cautious, she lifted her head a little to test this new development. Her neck was a little stiff, probably from sleeping at least part of the night on Steve's arm. But the throb in her head, which had been a dull but still present ache when she'd coaxed Steve into bed with her, was gone. The absence of pain was a glorious thing.

She eased carefully out of bed, standing beside it a moment to make sure Steve resettled. The light coming in the window was a dull, muddled grey that didn't help her gauge the time at all. Her bedside clock was black and a flick of the bathroom light confirmed they'd lost power. 

She took some Tylenol just in case, but walking around hadn't caused the headache to return, so she upgraded her pajamas to sweatpants and an old blue SHIELD shirt with a well loved cotton bra underneath it. Steve was still fast asleep and seemed untroubled by dreams, so she slipped on wool socks and headed out to the main room.

Her phone informed her it was lunchtime and she had no calls or messages. Doc had said she was on leave, so she put the phone back down without checking her email. Steve had pulled out her black out kit, so she took a moment to set some candles up before getting a fire going in the living room hearth.

The fireplace had a kettle hook on it, so technically, she could cook over it. Fortunately, her stove was gas, so she managed to light it and heat up some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for them to eat. Doc had said cooking was all right and she was _starving _.__

__When she looked up again, Steve was in the doorway. "That smells good."_ _

__She smiled. He was all rumpled and sleepy and seemed to fit very well with the log cabin decor. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup," she said. "My traditional post-mission meal."_ _

__He rubbed his scruffy jaw. "I was going to run home for clothes and a razor but we seem to be snowed in."_ _

__"Power's out, too." She flipped the last sandwich onto the plate and grabbed her ladle to portion out the soup. "I have razors you can use. Finding you clothes will be a bigger challenge."_ _

__"I grabbed my gym bag, which is where this came from." He gestured at the sweats he was wearing. "I also have my uniform. I can wear the base layer around the house. Though. . . laundry isn't happening without power, is it?"_ _

__"I'm afraid not. I might have some old e-boyfriend shirts that will fit but I cleared out a lot of old stuff when I moved." Said shirts would be very snug, though. Not that that was a bad thing. She put the soup bowls and sandwich plate on the tray he'd used to her breakfast in bed the day before. "For now, let's eat." She had a nice table, but with the power gone the fire was the only heat in the place, so she carried the tray over to her couch._ _

__"How are you feeling?" he asked as they sat._ _

__"Better," she said, trying not to be too emphatic. "Headache's gone, but I took some Tylenol just in case. A couple aches and pains but nothing out of the ordinary for that sort of mission."_ _

__"Too bad we're snowed in," he said. "You seem to be stuck with me."_ _

__"I'm sure we'll find ways to pass the time." She went back to the fridge for drinks, then settled on one side of the couch. "I have a deck of cards, some old board games."_ _

__"You absolutely do not want to play gin rummy with someone who fought in WW2."_ _

__She laughed, dunking her sandwich into her soup. "Oh, no. I learned that lesson at eight years old. I'm also pretty sure Risk and Monopoly would end in some sort of war of attrition."_ _

__"Monopoly would be boring, as I'm kind of a socialist I have no interest in driving people into poverty with rent."_ _

__Of course he was. Sharon wondered if there was a way to leak that quote to the conservative press. "I think I have checkers, too, though that probably has limited appeal." She sipped her iced tea. "I suppose we could degrade into truth or dare if we get properly bored."_ _

__"That could get interesting in a hurry," he said with a grin._ _

__His grin sent heat through her and she looked back at her food to hide her blush. Yeah, she was definitely feeling better. "Yes, it could. Not sure if my virtue is safe." She made a big show of scooting to the end of the couch away from him._ _

__"You are still healing," he said. He finished his sandwich. "We used to call it Truth or Consequences. I usually just answered the questions. Bucky would rather perform stunts."_ _

__She was still sort of waiting for her head to start hurting again, so she wasn't going to press for naked dares. But she was starting to get concerned he wouldn't hold up his half of the bargain about trusting her to be ready. "It was popular at slumber parties when I was growing up," she said, stretching her legs out. "I usually went for truth. I like to brag."_ _

__His jaw twitched like it did when he was considering something. "Okay. Shall we flip for who goes first?"_ _

__"Sure." Play it cool, Carter. She reached behind her to rummaging in her change bowl to dig out a quarter. "Call it," she told him, flipping it._ _

__"Tails," he said, and she found that delightfully contrary. Most people said heads._ _

__She caught the coin and smacked it onto the back of her hand, revealing tails. Steve grinned as she put the coin back in the bowl. "I guess you choose to ask or answer first."_ _

__"I will ask. I'm always curious about the accuracy of people's legends. Did you really run the SHIELD Academy Marathon on a broken foot?"_ _

__Covering her eyes with a hand, she laughed. "God. Okay, to be fair, it was only broken for the last twelve miles or so. And someone should really have double checked the course for gopher holes."_ _

__He nodded. "Your go, then." He paused. "And seriously, you ask me anything. Even questions about Peggy or whatever. Open season."_ _

__She sipped her tea, considering carefully. "Did she know you were attracted to men?"_ _

__He blinked in surprise at the question, and Sharon winced. Too much? She had her mouth open to apologize—even though he had just said anything goes—when he shook his head. "Not that I told her. If she could tell she never said. But it was the 40's, I don't know that you can really understand how _not_ okay it was." He shrugged. "Though apparently historians could tell, so maybe I wasn't hiding it was well as I thought." _ _

__"Most of the theories seemed to revolve around how much you went through to get Bucky back, with no guarantee he was alive," she offered. "From a modern point of view it's easier to see it as romantic rather than platonic. Of course the other side always argued that Peggy was pretty open about the fact you had a relationship, because even now people seem to forget bisexuality is a thing. At least I assume that's what we're talking about, I've never considered myself particularly androgynous or manly."_ _

__That made Steve laugh. "Yeah, and neither was she." He tipped his head back and looked at the hewn log beams above them, then he sighed. Then he answered a question she hadn't planned on asking. "Was I in love with him? Yes. Were we lovers? No."_ _

__It took her a moment to process, then she said, quietly, "I'm guessing he doesn't know."_ _

__"Well. . . he's never asked. But he does know, now, how I am. He's not a dumb man. But we've never talked about it."_ _

__Sharon mentally gave Barnes a hell of a lot of points for rolling with this information as well as he obviously had. They still had protests and hate groups in 2017. Barnes had been born a hundred years ago and seemed to be perfectly fine with the fact his best friend liked to sleep with men._ _

__Reaching out, she poked his leg with a toe. "Sorry, I think I got like four questions in there. Your turn."_ _

__"Does it bother you?"_ _

__Her brows went up. "That you've been with men? No. The only time a lover's past lovers bother me is if they gave them something or are going to come at me with a knife. You can't carry disease and I know a dozen ways to disarm someone with a knife."_ _

__"You don't have to worry, I made very careful they didn't know who I was, at least at the time. Eventually I got too famous."_ _

__"I figured you must have done something, or that would have been plastered all over the gossip blogs." She braced her elbow on the back of the couch, and tried to prop her head on a fist. It took a couple tries to find a spot that wasn't sore. "You want a freebie for my multiple questions or is it my turn?"_ _

__"I'll take a freebie. Pick a scar and tell me about it."_ _

__She certainly had an assortment to choose from. "Well you know this one," she said, lifting her arm. Instead, she tugged her shirt off to show him the scar that spanned her ribs. "So, you know how I said I only worried about ex-lovers bearing knives?"_ _

__"I. . .assumed that was a work injury."_ _

__"Recent history excepted, I actually don't get hurt much on the job. The goal is to _not_ get in a fight." She glanced down at the mark before lowering her shirt again. "I was twenty, in college and doing a fuck-buddy thing with a guy in my American Lit class. Kind of like us." Only not, because she never would have let that jackass see her wounded and miserable as she had with Steve this weekend._ _

__"He'd mentioned some crazy-ex being why he didn't want a relationship, and in his defense the poor thing had some obvious chemical imbalances. But after she'd accosted me in my apartment stairwell and I had disarmed and subdued her we had a chat and it was pretty clear he'd treated her like shit, including ditching her through a pregnancy scare. Once she'd calmed down she admitted going after me really wasn't the solution, so I did a field dressing on my ribs and we went and paid him a visit."_ _

__Steve was staring at her with his mouth open._ _

__In fairness, that was pretty much how everyone looked when she told that story. "My mother says I'm a magnet for weird," she said, finishing off her drink. "I think my bloody shirt really helped give the confrontation impact, though."_ _

__"I feel like I should not find that whole thing as arousing as I do."_ _

__She grinned, flushing with pleasure. "Is it me disarming a knife wielding coed, talking her down to my side, or scaring the literal piss out of a jackass that does it for you?"_ _

__"Yes," he replied._ _

__That got her to laugh. For that, she wasn't going to feel guilty about any threesome fantasies she had staring him and Barnes. "Okay, I have a question I might actually regret, but it's been bothering me."_ _

__He raised both eyebrows. "Hit me."_ _

__She took a deep breath. "Have you had sex with a woman whose last name _wasn't_ Carter?"_ _

__He tipped his head back and laughed. "Yes. Good lord."_ _

__"Oh, thank God." She was actually surprised at how relieved she was. That first night in the gym when he'd said he hadn't been with a woman since the forties, her first thought had been that it was just her and Peggy. The men in between eased the horror a little, but still the thought nagged._ _

__"I was short and skinny and sick, and then suddenly I looked like this." He gestured at his chest. "On a USO tour," he said dryly. "Full of girls."_ _

__"Oh dear. Your tone indicates this is not a penthouse worthy story."_ _

__"Well, _some_ parts of it probably are. But that's out of the scope of this question."_ _

__Well that just raised all new questions, didn't it? "All right. Your turn."_ _

__"What makes you happy?"_ _

___You._ The thought came immediately and unbidden, causing her to look away, at the crackling fire. She couldn't say it, of course. It was too big, too serious, even for this conversation. Nor did the next thought _I don't know_ seem like the best thing to admit. Even if the realization did cause her chest to ache._ _

__"Swimming in the ocean," she said finally. "Running in the fall. Hot chocolate. Taking my bra off at the end of the day."_ _

__"That last one makes me happy, too."_ _

__She grinned and looked back at him. "Tease."_ _

__He held out a hand. "Next?"_ _

__A few more blatantly sexual questions flitted through her mind. Before she got to that she went with, "Will you train me to use the shield?"_ _

__He looked surprised again. "My shield?"_ _

__She nodded, encouraged that there hadn't been an immediate no. "I know you've trained some of the others in case you lose it during battle. If you really consider me an Avenger and I might be going on future missions, I'd like to learn." And it would be an excellent excuse to spend time with him._ _

__"All right," he said. "Though that's more of an action item request than a 'truth'."_ _

__Shifting to stretch her legs out towards him, she grinned again. "Do I get another one, then?"_ _

__"I will grant it."_ _

__She chewed her lip and didn't miss his gaze going to her mouth. "Do you have any fantasies you'd like to share?"_ _

__He leaned back. "Oh, there's no way we're getting out of that one dressed."_ _

__"Oh no," she dead panned. "You're onto me." She poked him with a foot again. "I feel fine."_ _

__"Fine is polite bedroom sex, not fucking you on my desk."_ _

__Her skin flushed at the memory. His fingers stroking her right to the edge of a climax. She still wasn't sure if she should be pissed or grateful Barnes had ended up stopping them. Though that reminded her of something else._ _

__She leaned forward a little. "What if I guess?"_ _

__His eyes narrowed, his breathing picked up. She had his attention. "I am still concerned about your head injury."_ _

__Very slowly, she shifted a little closer to him and to the edge of the couch. "It's been almost forty eight hours. The swelling is gone. All the symptoms, including my headache are gone. I cooked you lunch and woke up naturally. I don't want brain damage, if I was at all concerned I wouldn't push, not even to fuck you." He reacted slightly to the word and she bit down on a smile._ _

___You like when I beg._ _ _

__Her heart was pounding, thinking of how his Cap voice turned her on. He had such a complicated relationship with his alter ego, she didn't think she could ever ask him to be Captain America in bed. But maybe there were ways to come at it sideways. Dip her toe in the water._ _

__She slid off the couch, kneeling at his feet. "Please?" she said softly. She ran light fingers along his thigh. "Please may I taste you?"_ _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's late! I moved on Saturday and I swear this is the first time I've had a computer, internet, free time and a functioning brain since.

She could see the shudder pass through him, and he looked mesmerized enough she knew she was hitting it right. He swallowed and said, "If you want."

Biting down on a grin, she went up on her knees, slipping her fingers into the waistband of his sweat pants. She tugged them down and he lifted his hips, making it easy for her to slid the fabric down his thighs and over his knees, to puddle at his ankles. He wasn't hard yet, but she swore his cock swelled a bit just as she watched.

She pressed a kiss to his thigh, first one, then the other, nuzzling at the hard muscle. Then she nudged his legs apart, wide enough to fit between them, and took his growing erection in her hands. She stroked with her hands, a few rough sweeps from root to tip, then leaned into to kiss and lick the tip. She made sure to look up and catch his gaze and she took him fully into her mouth.

He stared at her, his breathing harsh, and reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair. His hands were very gentle, avoiding the still tender spot on her head. She held his gaze for as long as she could, using every trick she knew. His hips started to shift, like he wanted to thrust into her mouth but was holding himself in check.

She sympathized. Her own hips were rocking in her rhythm, clit throbbing, desperate for some sort of stimulation. Slipping him out of her mouth, she caught her breath and said, "May I touch myself? Please?"

His voice was barely more than a rumble when he said, "No."

The denial caused a new surge of heat through her and she felt the answering rush of moisture between her legs. Leaning close again, she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, tasting salt and moaned softly before sliding her lips down his shaft. With her own pleasure denied, she was all the more invested in his.

He fell back against the cushions, distracted enough to grip her hair tighter. His quiet groan sounded desperate. "I want. . ." he gasped, but he didn't finish the request.

The grip on her hair bordered on pain, but that only ramped her arousal up higher. She'd unpack that new kink at a later time. Sliding her hands up his legs, she gripped his hips and pulled herself up to take him at a different angle, which let her go deeper. She put everything she had into it, until his hips jerked and she felt the heat of his release hit the back of her throat.

She felt him relax beneath her. "Jesus," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to. . ." He seemed to be struggling with words, which pleased her.

She pressed a kiss to his belly where his shirt had ridden up, nuzzling the skin a moment, before leaning back to sit on her feet. That had possibly been the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced and she hadn't even gotten off. His reaction, saying no to her, the way he'd lost control. . . Things she didn't even know how to describe or quantify. All she knew was it had been fucking hot. Her skin felt tight, sex throbbing with need. Flattening her palms on her knees she waited until he'd recovered enough to look at her, then said, "Please - please may I come?" She barely recognized her own voice.

"Come up here," he said. It was an _order_.

It was somewhere in between Steve's voice and the Cap's. It made her quiver all over, limbs watery as she climbed up off the floor to join him on the couch. He pulled her into his lap and kissed her, deep and explicit. As she began to sink into it, she felt his hand slide up the inside of her thigh to cup her through her sweats. Just that gentle touch set off a riot in her, and he broke the kiss to murmur, "Your _pants_ are wet."

Nuzzling the corner of his mouth, she replied, "I have never been this turned on in my life." She arched, pressing herself against his hand, desperate for stimulation. "Please, Steve. It aches."

"Tell me what you want," he whispered. "I'll give you anything."

God, she couldn't think, lust short circuiting her brain. At this point he could probably breathe on her and get her off. "Your hand," she gasped. "Finish what your started on the desk. I want to come for you."

He slid his hand beneath the soft, stretchy fabric, and he was finally touching her skin. His fingers sank into her without hesitation, the heel of his hand pressing against her clit. Sharon cried out, body clenching. He started to move, fingers pumping into her, heel rubbing. Her head tipped back and his other arm braced her shoulders, keeping her from falling backwards.

She was already so wound up, she felt the climax building up rapidly. Her hips rocked, grinding herself into his hand. "God. Oh God. Steve, can I - Tell me I can-"

She wasn't entirely sure how much of this game he was playing with her, at least until his hand stilled and he said, "And if I don't?"

The sound that came out of her was almost a sob. She could feel her inner muscles pulsing against his fingers, just on the edge of release but unable to tip over. "Please," she whispered. "Please, I'll do anything."

He made her wait what felt like an eternity, then whispered against her mouth, "Come for me. Let me feel it." His fingers moved, callused tips pressing against her g-spot. And she shattered, crying out his name. Her body clenched around his fingers and she rocked against him, lost in the intense, shuddering pleasure that flooded her.

She sagged against him as it passed, clutching at his shirt. For her, he was the only real thing in the world. 

Steve tucked her against his chest, just holding her and letting her bask in it. He kissed her hair and rubbed her back. "That was pretty damn close," he told her, his voice sounding a little awed.

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. Then she laughed a little breathlessly. "I'm an excellent guesser." She kissed his throat and let out a shuddery sigh. "Though I admit to being surprised at my own reaction."

His arms tightened. "It wouldn't have been as good without that."

Pleasure was still humming through her veins, making her feel warm and airy. "I will play that particular game with you whenever you like."

They cuddled in companionable silence for bit. "Thank you for last night," he said finally.

She leaned back a little to touch his face, stroking his jaw with her fingertips. "You're welcome. I wish I could do more."

"You kept me warm," he replied. She couldn't entirely read the emotion in his eyes, but it was intense, and it was there. It was hers. "That was enough."

Even though it flew in the face of keeping this casual and just sex, she kissed him tenderly and said, "Then I will do that whenever you like, too."

He stroked her hair. "If there's anything I can do to make you happy. . ."

Her throat closed up and she wondered when the last time someone cared about making her happy was. "Taking care of me here-" She shook her head a little, cleared her throat. "That means a lot." And because this was now treading into deep, dangerous waters, she added, "Though if you wanted something more immediate there _was_ talk of you meeting a friend of mine that lives in my nightstand."

He grinned. "I feel like we also really need to do it on the rug in front of the fire. This is a damn log cabin."

She put her hands on his shoulders and said, very seriously, "We're bound to be snowed in for a while. We should make a list."

*

It was so cold that night that they literally camped in front of the fire, in a nest made out of couch cushions, her bedding, and every blanket in the house. It had a certain. . . childhood couch fort feel to it, which made him inordinately happy. 

Sharon made him happy.

It was dark except for the fire, and it felt like they were the only people in the world. They were taking a break from their day of uninterrupted sex. Sharon needed a break.

She was lounging with her head in his lap, tangled up in sheet and what looked like a hand knit couch blanket, visible skin tinted gold from the fire. He studied her, carefully stroking her hair and picking knots out when he found them. He wished he had his sketchbook, so he could draw her like this.

He'd thought she was dozing, but after a while she opened her eyes and caught him looking at her. She smiled, but there was something a little sad in it. "How on earth are we going to go back to work?" she asked softly.

"Having to be in the same room and yet keep our clothes on?"

Her gaze wandered to his chest a little before going back to his face. "Something like that. A few more days like this and I'm going to start having a Pavlovian response. Hear Steve's voice: get wet."

"You can at least hide that in public." He trailed his fingers over her arm. "I kind of love the idea of you sitting over there getting turned on by staff updates."

She sighed softly, lids fluttering, either at the touch or because she was picturing it, too. "It's already hard to pay attention sometimes."

He dared let his hand wander down to cup her breast. "Maybe there will be some urgent topic we'll need to discuss privately afterwards."

Her nipple peaked against his palm and she let out a little sound that was half moan, half sigh. He really did love how responsive she was. "God, if you knew some of the fantasies I've had," she murmured, almost to herself.

He decided to take this as sign her break was likely done. "It _is_ my turn to ask you a question," he said, calling back the Truth-or-Date from this morning.

She opened her eyes, looking at him. "We did get a bit distracted, didn't we?"

He slid his hand lower. "So tell me about them."

She sucked in a breath and he felt the muscles in her abdomen tighten and twitch under his palm. "It's hard to articulate. They're more. . . the desire for a particular feeling than any one scenario." When he didn't respond - or move his hand any farther - she sighed and continued, "That first night, in the gym, you ripped your shirt and later held me up with just one hand. It reminded me how strong you are. You held me up against the wall and there was nothing I could do but let you. Not that I wanted to do anything else," she hastened to add.

Her gaze wandered away from his again. "I've never been with a guy I couldn't have overpowered if I'd wanted to. And a lot of them tended to be into strong, in charge women. But with you - Most of my fantasies of us at work are you starting something some where inappropriate. I put up a token protest but you just ignore me, pinning me to a wall or a table and fucking me." Her mouth thinned out into something a little embarrassed. "I've been held to a higher standard most of my life. I suppose I just want to feel. . . weak once in a while."

He moved his hand down to touch her more intimately. "Grab you and bend you over my desk?"

A shudder went through her as his fingers touched her. She might have been done with her break, but the folds of her sex were still swollen and sensitive. "Yes," she said, obviously struggling to keep her voice steady. "Pinning me down and holding me there. Helpless. So you can do whatever you like to me."

He kept his touch light, just in case. He didn't want to hurt her. But he wanted to give her what she asked. "Sounds like fun."

Her legs fell open a little wider, the last of the tangled sheet slithering off her. "Yes, it does," she said, turning her head a little to nuzzle at his stomach.

"Answer me honestly. How sore are you?"

He expected a immediate and enthusiastic denial. Instead, she kissed his stomach, making a thoughtful noise. "I don't think sore is the right word," she told him finally, She leaned back to look in his eyes. "I'm tender, sensitive. It makes everything more intense. You haven't gone near my clit yet and I feel like I'm about to come. I want more. I want to see how far you can push me."

Now he was turned on again, which she clearly noticed as her head was in his lap. He shifted her off him before she could try to do something about that, and flipped her over onto her stomach on one of the conveniently stacked pillow piles. Not that he'd thought about this while building this thing.

She shifted as if to go up on her hands and knees. He flattened a palm between her shoulder blades and pushed her back down, not hard, but firm enough she got a sense of his strength. She moaned and seemed to melt, body going soft and pliant in a way he'd never seen before. He stretched over her, kissing the back of her neck. "Do you remember the first night in the gym?"

She nodded, fingers clenching on the pillows beneath her. "All the time."

"I had you pinned," he told her, settling his weight on top of her just like then. "And you kept grinding against me."

As if drawn up by the words, her hips lifted, just as they had then. "I wanted you," she whispered. "So badly."

He nestled his cock against her, just so he could feel how wet she was. Slippery and swollen, she gasped at even the gentle graze. "I wanted to just rip your shorts off right there. Have you like that. Like this." It had been a surprisingly deep urge, not one that seemed a good idea on a first encounter. But there was some base part of him that had just wanted to fuck her, no kissing and no conversation.

" _Yes_ ," she hissed, lifting her hips again to rub herself against him. He pressed down with his hips so the next time she tried to grind on him she couldn't move. That caused her to moan. "Please fuck me. Please, please."

God, the begging. She knew just what buttons to push. He nudged her legs open a little, and then pushed inside her. She jerked a little and her body squeezed around him. The angle made it so, so tight, all he could do was move slowly.

For the first few strokes all she seemed capable of were little moans and gasps. He pressed her into the pillows with his weight, harder than he normally would have. But it was what she had wanted, and it was obvious how much she liked it. "You feel so good," she whispered. "So hard. It's never been like this before."

He slid his hands over her arms to hold her wrists to the cushions. He didn't need to hold her down, but the gesture sent a shudder through her. There was something, he supposed, to the surrender.

It was a painstakingly slow climb. The position, the friction, the fact that neither of them could move much. He was in no rush, and it was about as intense as it could get.

Eventually, he felt her body start to throb around him, growing slicker and hotter. She started to try to move again, hips jerking erratically. "Oh God," she moaned. "Please. Don't stop, don't stop."

"Never. I promise." His voice sounded strange and not entirely like him. There was something intensely hot about holding her still while she was coming apart, her sounds and words dissolving into gasps and sobs. His own orgasm was winding up, but he fought it as long as he could. This was way too much fun to watch.

Sharon choked out his name and let out a low, throaty groan that seemed to come from deep inside. Her body shook and tight muscles clenched around his cock, milking it again and again. The position and obvious intensity of the orgasm made it feel tighter and rougher than ever before. It didn't seemed to stop, the pulses continuing, again and again and again as she whimpered helplessly beneath him, utterly lost in it. He just let go and let her pull him over the edge. He pressed his face into her hair as pleasure surged and everything went blindingly white. "Sharon, Sharon," he whispered, simply the first nonsense thing to come out of his mouth as it took him.

For a long time neither of them spoke. Steve wasn't sure he could even think. Their bodies had no problem talking. Hers was still moving around him, little throbs in time to her heart beat. It felt good, so he stayed where he was, buried deep inside her, trying to make the moment of intense intimacy last. He was a little concerned he was smothering her, so he wedged his arms under her and rolled to his side so they could face the fire, still connected.

He yanked a blanket up over them. Her breathing sounded a little shuddery, so he asked, "You okay?"

She nodded, covering his hands where they lay on her belly. "That was perfect," she murmured. "I can't believe how intense that was. Is."

He bent his head to kiss her shoulder. "We're magic, you and I."

"We are," she agreed. She turned her head and he obliged her with a kiss on the mouth. There was so much in the kiss. Lust, gratitude, tenderness, passion. And a few all new emotions that should have worried him. But what harm was there in having affection for her, in enjoying her company? He seemed to make her as happy as she made him. That was rare enough in the world. There was no sense in turning away from it.

He was beginning to entertain the idea that he didn't have to be alone. That he could have a live. Make a life. Maybe it wouldn't be the one that he'd planned after the war. But it would be something. It might actually make him happy. And it might have this woman in it. "I did not expect to enjoy that so much."

She trailed her fingers along his arm. "I think we have very complimentary kinks." Shifting to look at him, she added, "And I think the next time I ask you to _please_ hand me that file you're going to want fuck me on the conference table."

"In my defense, I wanted to do that last week, too."

Laughing, she rolled, causing him to slide out of her. But then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. For a few minutes they just kissed, no other agenda, just enjoying being able to touch and nuzzle each other. "I don't know what we are," she murmured, stroking her fingers through his hair. "What to call it. But you make me so happy. I felt so lonely and. . . cold. I don't feel like that when I'm with you."

"I know exactly what you mean," he said. "This was just supposed to be recreation. But you. . . matter to me. In a way that has nothing to do with sex."

She let out a breath and he wondered if she'd been expecting him to let her down gently or something. "Yes. When I heard you on the comm - obviously upset and about to panic - that got my up off the floor as much as anything." She pressed a little kiss to his shoulder. "There's very few people in the world I would have let come take care of me. See me vulnerable."

"I've never told anyone about the nightmares. About being afraid of the cold." He wasn't sure anyone knew he was afraid of anything, let alone something that common and benign.

"Your secret is safe with me," she said sincerely. She kissed him again, settling her head on his shoulder. "I'm not sure how I feel about us being. . . out. But if you wanted to tell Bucky or Sam about us I wouldn't mind. I know they're your friends."

Wasn't that a can of worms. "I'm afraid people won't understand."

"Well, I didn't say I was going to tell my family." Steve wasn't sure he could imagine the worm can that would be. "Though we might want to consider telling Wanda before she picks it up inadvertently."

"She's your friend?" he asked. He seemed to recall them hanging out a bit.

He could feel her smile against his skin. "Yeah, I think so. We talk. I actually kind of told her about you because she could tell I was happy the morning after one of our nights together. I didn't mention names. Lead to a conversation about various team members smutty thoughts." Sharon kissed his jaw. "She said you're very polite."

"People work for me. Picturing them naked is rude. Being seen as a piece of meat sucks."

"You do, apparently, think loudly, as does Sam." She paused. "She's very easy to talk to. Good listener, understanding. We have fun together. Our sparring sessions end up being very gossipy."

"Then you should tell her." He sifted her hair through his fingers. "I'm not ashamed of us."

Her smile was absolutely beautiful. "Neither am I." She pulled herself up, body sliding against his, and kissed him. This time the affection and emotion was backed by heat. "I'm proud to be the thing that makes you happy," she whispered on his mouth. "To be the person you trust with your secrets."

He pulled her closer and held her tight. They could sleep some other time.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day was Sunday and Sharon was sore enough that they actually did take a break in the constant sex, turning to her deck of cards and meager collection of board games. The power came back on in the evening, which made making something edible out of her canned and dry goods slightly easier. They slept in their nest in front of the fire again, because it was still the warmest room in the house and it seemed to make Steve especially happy. The day of abstinence had done its job and he made slow, gentle love to her while the fire blazed and she begged him for more.

They woke on Monday to the sound of the snow plow chugging up her street. The blizzard was apparently over and Ithaca was digging itself out. 

"I'm supposed to take the week off of work," she complained, watching Steve dig under the bed for his underwear. "I bet you could override Doc if you wanted to."

"Oh no. Being insubordinate to Doc is a bad, bad idea." This coming from Steve Rogers was particularly striking.

"Hmph." She crossed her arms and waited for him to straighten, boxers held triumphantly. "Will you come visit me during my convalescence?"

He put his boxers on, and shook out his uniform pants. "Of course. You need someone to shovel your walk and carry in firewood." He looked over at her. "And screw you senseless, of course."

"At this point I will probably explode if someone doesn't fuck me properly at least two or three times every twenty four hours." She caught his waist band and tugged him close to kiss his belly, smiling when the muscles twitched. "And you've ruined me for all others."

He chuckled. "Oh, don't do that. These stupid pants have a cup."

"I'll behave," she murmured, giving him a little pat before leaning away. Watching him get dressed wasn't as fun as stripping it off him, but it had its merits. Part of her wanted to try to convince him to stay. She was pretty sure if she said please in just the right way she could buy herself another afternoon. But the last few days had been intense. Blissful, but intense, and she rather thought some time to process would be nice. She was looking forward to a hot bath and finding out what delivery places were up and running.

He held her face in his hands and kissed her before he went. "I'm going to clear your walk. Can I borrow your car? I can send someone to drive it back later today."

"Of course," she said, curling her fingers around his wrists to hold his hands to her face a little longer. "Drive safely. And send me entertaining texts to help stave off my boredom."

"Don't make me scandalize Wanda now," he replied.

"I will keep them PG," she promised. He kissed her again and she melted into him, heart pounding. "Go," she murmured when he lifted his head. "Before I beg you to stay."

From the window she watched him clear her walk with his shield, and then he got in her car and drove away.

She made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning up the kitchen while her bath filled. Then she sank into the hot water and let it wash the soreness out of her muscles. She tried not to think about anything in particular, taking the time to just be at peace. She had sort of expected panic to set in once he was gone. Reality would crash in on her and it would all seem crazy and untenable.

But all she felt was peace and contentment. She and Steve were. . . something. Lovers, for want of a better label. Not temporary, not recreation. He'd come back tonight and bring her groceries and make dinner with her and sleep in her bed and it would be normal and natural. It would be the way it was supposed to be.

He made her happy.

Precisely at 6, he returned with a trunk full of groceries, and news that Doc was willing to check her out on Wednesday morning, and possibly let her come back. They celebrated this news several times before going to sleep.

She went in on Wednesday and sat through a lengthy exam from Doc that seemed to include everything but an MRI, though who knew what the little hand held scanner thing she had really did. At the end Doc agreed she could start back on administrative duty, but had to wait till next week to start her training up again. Since it meant she wasn't going to be staring at her own four walls for three more days she agreed enthusiastically.

She was in her office approximately two minutes before Wanda appeared in the doorway. "Are you free?" she asked, her voice indicating she really hoped Sharon was.

"Sure. Come on in. Is something wrong?"

"No. Not at all." She came in and shut the door behind her. She looked like the cat that ate the canary. "I was a little worried about the storm," she said, sitting in one of Sharon's guest chairs. "They said power was out in town. So I stopped by to check on you over the weekend, see if you wanted to come to the compound."

Sharon smiled. "That was very sweet of you but I don't remember hearing-" She stopped suddenly and felt her face flush. "Oh my God."

"Yeah, I could hear the praying from the curb."

She buried her face in her hands. "I feel like I should apologize."

"Eh, you were no big deal. We're friends." She paused. "But. . . there are things one doesn't really need to know about one's boss."

Sharon peeked out at her. "Well, now I kind of want to know but feel guilty making you relive it."

"Don't worry," she said dryly. "You seemed to be aware." She regarded Sharon a moment. "Round number 11. Was that for real?"

Rubbing the back of her head, she tried to remember which time that was. The bathtub? Maybe the kitchen counter. "Yeah. . . The serum ramps up metabolism. Which seems to translate into very efficient rebound time."

"I'm so excited I was right about why Cap had been in such a good mood. Also, I can't believe you didn't _tell_ me."

"We didn't tell anyone. It started out almost accidentally and then it was just sex. Recreation. We didn't want anyone to know and read into it or worse, judge us. Especially given his history with my aunt." She shook her head. "But if it helps, I did have plans to tell you when I saw you today."

Wanda cleared her throat. "It isn't just sex."

Maybe she should have involved the psychic a while ago. Sharon chuckled. "Yeah, uh, we sorted that out this weekend. We're still not ready to be open about it, though. I know you respect people's privacy."

"Of course, of course. I just couldn't help what I heard. And there was really _no_ other way to interpret the thoughts I'd picked up."

"I suppose the odds of both of us having matching, extremely graphic sexual fantasies at the same time _is_ pretty small." Sharon was aware she was both blushing and grinning like an idiot. "It was a wonderful weekend."

"I am really happy for you," she said sincerely. "Both of you. He's been so. . .sad."

That caused a pang in Sharon's chest. "He tells me how happy I make him. I knew - I could sense it meant more than he was really saying."

"I think he carries a lot. A lot of grief and history. I suppose I see it because it's very familiar. But there's been a little tiny light in there for a while now, and I can see it getting brighter."

It was a lovely image, the way she described it. Sharon was surprised to feel tear prick the back of her eyes. "I'm his light?"

"Yes," she said. "And you have one for him that matches."

Unconsciously, she touched her chest, as if she could feel it. "I do?"

"You are harder to read. But I feel the same things sometimes. Sadness, darkness. Except for that corner. I don't know how to describe these things, really. But that's what it feels like to me. Light."

"I think you're describing it perfectly," Sharon told her. "It does feel . . . it's corny but things seem brighter when I'm with him."

"I think that's special. And rare. You should hold onto that. Even if your family won't approve and people will think it's weird. You deserve to have it."

That was pretty much what she had come to think on her own. But hearing it from someone else - especially after Wanda's description of her and Steve's feelings for each other - made everything seem very real. She got up and came around her desk to hug Wanda. "Thank you."

Wanda hugged her back. "I'm trying to figure out how to do good with. . .what I am."

"I think you'll do a lot of good," Sharon told her, meaning it. "You're a good person and you want to help. That counts for a lot."

"I hope so. And thank you for that."

Releasing her, Sharon took a deep breath. "I'm not supposed to do any activity, but I'd like to still meet for training tomorrow. We can go over what you already know. For now, do you want to get some coffee and twitter like school girls about my sex life?"

"That sounds fabulous."

Coffee with Wanda left her in an absolutely delightful mood. So good that even her meeting with Hill about some more tasks she needed to take on couldn't dim it. Admittedly, the meeting she was going to have with some state politicians about their security procedures was probably going to suck. But on the bright side, maybe she'd have an opportunity to make an old, white man cry.

She strolled down to Steve's office when the last of her work was done, happy to find him there alone. "Hi," she said softly, leaning a shoulder on the door jamb.

He had files spread on his desk. Steve liked real paper. His smile for her was warm. "Hello."

Glancing down the hallway to double check they were alone, she said, "Wanda knows and I didn't have to tell her. Apparently, she tried to check on me over the weekend and. . . overheard us."

His eyes closed and his cheeks turned pink. Captain America blushes. That had to be practically a state secret. "No wonder she's been avoiding eye contact."

"Yes. I will not share the details of our conversation. But she's very happy for us." She didn't know how to tell him about Wanda's description of their lights. That was a conversation for later, maybe in front of her fireplace.

He looked up at her and grinned, looking very young. "I'm happy for us, too."

It was very hard not to go over and kiss him. But she was pretty sure that would end with one or both of them naked. "I'm going to head home now. As I am still banned from the gym."

"I can be done," he said immediately. "This can wait."

"Are you sure?" she asked, even though her heart was pounding and her stomach seemed to flutter in delight.

He stood up. "I don't even remember what I was working on."

She smiled and for a moment it was like she could feel the light Wanda had mentioned, glowing and warm in the corner of her heart. "Let's go, then."

They drove in separate cars, even though they'd both come back in the morning. They met in her mudroom, taking off coat and boots and unable to resist kissing. Pretty quick he lifted her up against the mudroom wall. 

It wasn't quite same as being pinned beneath him on the floor. But he seemed to make a point of showing off his strength; holding her up with one hand as he tugged her clothes out of the way. He tucked her legs over his arms when he thrust into her, holding her wide open, so she couldn't move, couldn't hold him with her legs, could only wrap her hands around his wrists and hold on as he drove into her. 

"Yes," she breathed, head falling back against the wall as pleasure grew like a wildfire inside. "Yes, yes. Fuck, please. Just like this. Please, please, Steve."

"Come for me, baby," he told, more order than request. "I can feel how close you are."

She whimpered at the words, the tone, the helpless feeling of being held this way. Pleasure flooded her and she shook in his arms, her own hands tightening on him. He kept thrusting even as she started to clench on him and the friction and tightness pushed her somehow higher, until she was sobbing his name, babbling and begging him to fuck her and never stop.

She felt boneless and liquid as he carried her inside, tucked up against his chest. He didn't say anything, just sat them on the couch together and let her relax on his lap. Her thighs ached pleasantly and her whole body seemed to throb and pulse with the after shocks of pleasure. He stroked her back lightly, soothingly. It was absolutely perfect.

When her heart had stopped pounding she stirred and murmured. "Wanda says since we've been together she's sensed a light inside each of us."

"A light?"

It would probably be better to try and describe this while more of her brain was working. "She said we've both been weighted down with dark emotions. Sadness, grief, loss. But as we . . . grew closer she started to sense light as well."

"Ah. That is very. . .apt. Though I might have said color."

His light and his color. It was enough to give a girl a big head. "It was the best way she could figure out how to articulate it."

"I've been drawing in color again," he said quietly.

She lifted her head to look at him, sitting up on his lap. "I didn't realize you had stopped."

"I stopped entirely for a while after Wanda messed with my head." 

Sharon imagined that, for an artist, that was a bit like part of your soul dying. She touched his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"It's hard to keep starting over."

"I can't imagine what it must have been like. Losing everything."

"After New York I threw myself into SHIELD. Like I could replicate the war somehow. Serve, lead a team, do some good. I ended up with serious injuries, a ghost to chase, and a couple of weeks where I went to three funerals a day. Sam told me it wasn't healthy, but he came with me to a bunch of them anyway."

There had been dozens of funerals and memorial services after the Trisk fell. "I remember. I was at a few of them as well."

"I saw you. I wanted to go to as many as I could. Collateral damage is necessary, but that doesn't make it right. That I had no choice, that is saved millions of lives, doesn't mean that blood's not still on my hands. They were my troops. Even though some of them were janitors. And some were probably Hydra and not on the lists. Better too many than not enough." He wove his fingers into her hair. "I wrote the families condolence letters. Seemed the thing to do."

That must have taken almost as long as the funerals. He hadn't had to it, no one had asked or expected it of him. But that was Steve. And while there were some who probably threw the letters away or even resented the writing of them, she knew there must have been just as many that treasured them.

She kissed him gently, wrapping her arms around him. For a moment she was at a loss for words. Then she said softly, "If anything like that happens again, we'll write them together."

He looked down at her for a moment. "You know the worst of it was that there were so many who had no one. Which was something SHIELD cultivated, I know. I fit right in." He shook his head. "Sam and Hill convinced someone in the VA to take on those that had been veterans, which was most. But I ended up paying for a few funerals. Everyone deserves to have someone say a prayer over their grave."

"Yes, they do." She'd been very rare among top tier agents, having a family. Most of the funerals she'd attended had been sparsely populated, mostly with other agents.

"It was a dark time. Looking for Bucky. Working for Stark. Figuring out who the hell I was. Then I had this hallucination that felt like reality. About how the war was over and I had nothing."

She and Wanda had spoken - very briefly - about the things she'd done to the Avengers when working with Ultron. She had only the vaguest of ideas as to what they saw. Talking about it obviously made her feel guilty and awful, so Sharon had never brought it up again.

Stroking his hair in what she hoped was a soothing pattern, she asked, "Do you want to tell me?"

He sighed. "I don't think you want to hear it. A lot of it was about Peggy."

"I admit when we first started it was a little strange to me," she said. "But it's not . . . I don't associate your ex-girlfriend Peggy with my aunt as much as I used to. And besides, you matter to me. I want to hear things about you, good and bad. Even about your first love. Maybe especially."

"I don't want it to be weird."

She kissed him again. "If you don't want to tell me because it's too painful or it will bother you, I understand. But please don't hold something back because you're afraid it will weird me out. I'll be all right."

He was quiet so long she thought maybe he wouldn't reply. Then he said, "We had this running joke about going dancing. Circumstances being what they were, we kind of skipped the dating part and went straight to. . ." He shook his head, not finishing. She did not require he do so. "But it became a euphemism for everything from privacy and a real bed to a two bedroom house in the suburbs. The dance would happen in the life that happened after the war. We talked about the dance when my plane was going down in the arctic. Like a code for two people too chicken-shit to say 'I love you' on open airwaves."

Sharon had leaned back to look at him as he spoke. "And your hallucination was about that dance?"

"We were at a dance hall. Big band, great music. It was a victory party, and she and I finally danced. But everywhere I looked, I kept seeing the war. Blood and bodies and bombs, right in the middle of the crowd. And then we took a turn and everyone vanished, including her, right in the middle of the dance. I was alone in the empty room."

It was a fairly apt metaphor for his life since waking up, she supposed. Though the image, and the lingering grief in his voice made her heart ache. Once again, she didn't really know what to say. So she leaned close and hugged him, as tight as she could. He held her just as tight, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. Then she heard him whisper, "You're the best thing that's happened to me in so long."

"So are you," she told him. "I had. . . _worshipped_ Aunt Peggy and you and all the stories about the war and SHIELD. It was the only thing I ever wanted to do, ever wanted to be. And in the course of a week I managed to totally alienate you, watched Director Fury die, and found out the agency I'd devoted so much of my life to was a lie. I don't know if I ever really got over that. The CIA certainly didn't help with the disillusionment. Coming up here was a new start but it just felt like starting from square one again." She took a deep breath of his woodsy scent. "I just - I know it's not the same but-"

He put his fingers over her lips. "We all hurt the same. And I'm sorry I was so rude to you."

She kissed his fingers. "It was probably deserved. Some of it. You were having a bad day."

"And I'm sorry for trying to ask you out. That must have been awkward."

She laughed. "Only because I wanted to say yes." She shifted to straddle his lap properly, so she could press closer to him. "They told me you were going to be some awkward, bad-with-girls, oddball and you proceeded to ask me out in just about the smoothest way I've ever seen. And then you accepted my no with more skill and grace than half the guys I actually dated."

"I have been on the receiving end of not taking no for an answer and it is not fun."

"You have?" she asked, tilting her head in confusion. "Who?"

He tipped his head back. "This is really, really mortifying." He sighed. "Before I got the serum, I had no practical experience with girls beyond a bunch of very awkward double dates Bucky dragged me on. Then suddenly I look like this, and get thrown into this road show. The girls in the show hit on me, and I didn't know what to do. Women who attended the shows hit on me, slipped me hotel keys. . .Again. Awkward." 

Well, it was good to know groupies had existed in any and all time periods. "Did anyone throw their underwear on stage?"

"No." He made a face. "People do that?"

"I'm told it's pretty common with rock stars. I never really got it, I'd rather have a piece of them, not give them a piece of me."

"I'm really resisting complaining about kids these days," he said, making her laugh. "Anyway. One night I come back to my hotel room and there's a woman in there in her underwear. I had no idea what to say. I mean, I couldn't just shove her out into the hallway with no clothes on. By the time I'd managed to articulate, you know, I'm flattered but No, thank you, she had her hands down my pants."

Sharon felt her jaw drop, outraged on his behalf. "Oh my God. Steve! That's awful. What did you do?"

He looked absolutely anywhere but directly at her. "Had humiliatingly horrible sex. To say that it took five minutes it's probably exceptionally generous. In my defense, I had no idea what I was doing whatsoever. She kind of snarled 'That's it?' at me before flouncing off. In retrospect I'm glad that 'Captain America Is Bad in Bed' is not the sort of story journalists of the 1940's would have been interested in."

"Why that- fucking bitch." Sharon blew out a frustrated, annoyed breath. "She's lucky she's probably already dead. I am not above punching an octogenarian."

"Eh," he said uncomfortably. "Bucky told me I was the only man on earth who could manage to lose their virginity accidentally out of politeness."

Sharon had a couple of other words for it. But this was obviously a conversation he didn't want to be having. And there was probably no point in getting worked up over something that happened that long ago. Still, the story set off every protective instinct she had. "Well," she said finally. "I'm sorry your first time was so bad." She leaned down and gave him a smacking kiss. "I will make it my mission to make up for it as much as possible."

"You know you're only the third person I've told about that."

"What did Peggy make of it?" She hesitated. "At least I assume she'd be the third."

He shook his head. "No, I was far to ashamed of the whole thing. It was Sam, actually. We were at the Bartons' farm, there was Asgardian booze. Somehow we got talking about awkward sex and Bucky relayed the line about politeness. Later he told me I had to tell him the whole story. Since I was drunk, I did."

Her first thought should not be that she really wanted to see him drunk. "I've noticed Sam is very easy to talk to," she offered.

"I have found that to very true." He rubbed her back. "He asked me if I thought anybody would be making jokes about it if the genders were reversed."

She was going to send Sam an anonymous fruit basket. "Hence my outrage," she said, arching into his touch a little. "My first time might not have been the stuff of teen movies, but at least I knew the guy and wanted to be with him."

"The girl after her was quite nice. One of the chorus girls. She didn't know what she was doing either, but we figured it out."

"See? That's very sweet."

"I seem to make you happy, so I suppose I did figure it out correctly."

She grinned even as she felt her skin heat. She kissed him. "You make me very." Kiss. "Very." Kiss. "Happy."

"Good." He stood up with her in his arms, and she let out a squeak in surprise. "We're going to the bedroom," he informed her. "I want to play with your toys."

Shuddering in anticipation, she wrapped her arms around his neck to help support herself. "Yes. Sir."

He kissed her while he walked. "Damn right."


	12. Chapter 12

It was snowing again. Such was February in upstate New York. Sharon had been in Albany since yesterday for meetings, so Steve decided to go a couple rounds with Bucky down in the gym to burn off some steam. 

"Last year we weren't really admitting what was going on, so we just ignored the whole thing. So I don't know if she's serious or if this is some kind of test? Sam insists every woman wants something for Valentine's Day. Rhodey told me not taking her requests at face value is insulting and not a pattern I want to get into."

Nobody asked Steve for romantic advice, he noticed. Which was probably for the best. He had absolutely no useful opinions on Valentine's Day, let alone if Amanda had been serious when telling Bucky she didn't want any fuss. Other than to wonder if Sharon was expecting something from him, and if he should panic because it was next week. "Rhodey has been married for like 20 years," Steve replied. "He probably knows what he's talking about."

"Vanessa doesn't take any shit."

"Neither does Doc."

Bucky tilted his head. "That's true. But she likes it when I surprise her with things. They're just usually not romantic things, like flowers and candy." He attempted to surprise Steve with an arm bar, which he got out of easily. "What about your person?" he asked. "You doing something for them?"

Steve stared at him, startled. "What?"

It must have taken super human effort for Bucky not to look smug. "The person you've been sleeping with. Are you at Valentines levels or is it casual?"

He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. "How do you know about that?"

"Admittedly, a lot of the circuits are still scrambled." Bucky tapped his head. "But I do remember the difference between getting-some-regularly-Steve and _not_ -getting-some-regularly-Steve. And you have most certainly been the former the past few weeks. Amanda says there's some sort of physiological reason for it. Hormones and endorphins and such. I get distracted when she starts explaining medical things."

When he was over being surprised, he was very grateful Bucky had said 'person'. That had been such an awkward conversation. One that could have gone so badly. But his friend had been far cooler and more understanding than Steve expected. 

This conversation was _also_ going to be awkward. "Yes," he said. "There is someone. A woman."

Bucky grinned widely. "I knew it. Is it serious? Do I know her?"

He put his hands on his hips, tipped his head back and regarded the ceiling. "You do."

There was a moment of silence. "Are you going to make me guess?"

"Sharon," he said, mostly to the ceiling, before looking back at Bucky.

His friend was staring at him. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Then he said, "So I don't have to point out how weird that is, right?"

"Yeah, I am aware of that," he said defensively. Maybe telling him was a bad idea. He should have started with Sam. Sam hadn't known Peggy.

Bucky blew out a breath and paced back and forth a few steps. Which, come to think of it, was sort of similar to his reaction when Steve had told him he was bisexual. Finally, Bucky faced him again. "She makes you happy," he said, without a hint of question in his voice. "So I'm happy. And I understand why you didn't want to mention is earlier."

"It has nothing to do with Peggy," he said, feeling like that needed to be said. "And it was just supposed to be. . . recreation."

"Past tense indicates that's no longer true?"

He thought about what Sharon had told him about Wanda and the light. About the pages of drawings of her his sketchbook now had. "It's not."

"Is it. . . are you going to tell more people? That's a hell of a secret you've been -" He snapped his fingers. "That's why you were so freaked out when she got hurt."

"I didn't think I was _that_ obvious."

He shrugged. "I've been on a lot more missions with you than they have. If it helps 'panicked Cap' voice is only slightly more urgent than normal." He grinned suddenly. "No wonder you offered to play nursemaid."

Steve couldn't help but grin. "Yes, well."

Bucky shook his head, but looked visibly proud of him. "Well. I'm really happy for you. You deserve someone."

"Thank you," he said.

"You should come for dinner something," Bucky offered. "Amanda's been asking about you."

"Like a double date?"

Bucky's grin indicated Steve had accurately read his intent. "We'll have a successful one if it kills us."

"Fine, okay. I'll ask Sharon. Can we get back to work now?" He paused. "Wait, should I do something for Valentines Day?"

"You're asking me?" Steve tilted his head and glared a little. "Look just. . . split the difference. You don't have to take her out for a candlelight dinner but. . . do something special. So she knows you were thinking of her."

"I'm always thinking of her," he said, not realizing how much of an admission that was until it was out of his mouth.

It actually seemed to startled Bucky a little. Then he grinned widely. "Man, you got it bad."

Was that such a terrible thing? "Yeah, maybe I do."

He ended up having dinner with Bucky and Amanda that night, as Sharon got stuck in Albany another day. Doc handled the news of him dating Sharon with far less smugness than Bucky had. She was also very happy for them, though, and echoed the dinner invitation. He got the impression she didn't know Sharon well and, as his best friend's best girl, felt the need to check her out a bit.

The idea of going back to his empty apartment and lonely bed was entirely unappealing, so he crashed in their guest room again. He spent the morning in the gym, taking out his frustrations on training Sharon's recruits and the afternoon stuck in an endless meeting with Maria Hill. He hadn't heard from Sharon and as it started to get dark he was worried she'd ended up having to stay another night.

Then he heard the click of high heels in the hallway outside of his office and she appeared in his doorway.

Sharon generally dressed somewhere around business casual. No jeans, nice blouses and jackets or cashmere sweaters. But she usually added a splash of color or had a casual cut to her collar or shirt. Today, she was in the primmest, most conservative black suit and white blouse he'd ever seen.

He grinned when he saw her. "Hello. Now you really do look like a Spook."

She smoothed a hand down her skirt. "Hill sends me because my camouflage is so good. Pretty blonde thing. Surely the big scary politicians can walk all over me."

The skirt went to the bottom of her knees, and the shirt buttoned to her chin. The nuns from his childhood would have approved of this suit. He had no idea why he found it _so_ hot. "Success?" he asked.

"I got everything we wanted," she said, stepping into his office and setting her briefcase down on his guest chair and laying her overcoat on top of it. "If I'd kept going I might have gotten a seat in the senate but I tried to leave a little on the bone for next time."

"You are magnificent," he told her sincerely.

She tilted her head. "I am, aren't I?" Grinning, she braced a hip on his desk. "Did you miss me?"

"I did. I told Bucky about us."

"You did?" He couldn't really read her tone, but she didn't seem to tense up at all. "How did he take it?"

"He's happy for us. He and Amanda want us to come for dinner."

Sharon smiled at that. "I'd like that. I don't know either of them well and I'd like to." She paused. "If it's all right with you."

"I'd like to. I think it would be very. . . normal." He put his hand on her knee, though he couldn't help but think what happened the last time he did that. But she was irresistible. "We should probably have a conversation about how. . . out we want to be."

Shifting so that she was sitting on the desk instead of just leaning on it, she said, "I don't know that we should take out an ad in the company newsletter. These things usually happen pretty organically, don't they? We could just. . . stop hiding."

"I need to have a conversation with Hill. And we may want to keep it private from the public."

"I'm half convinced Hill already knows. She knows everything." Her hand covered his on her knee. "And it's sure as hell not the public's business."

He rubbed his thumb over the nylon covering her skin. She had pantyhose on, that's how conservative this suit was. "Things get out."

She gave him her little crooked smile. "I just played the state senate and two governor's aides like fiddles. Fox News will be child's play."

"I have every faith in you."

"Thank you." She gave his hand a little pat. "You done for the day? Hill said I could take tomorrow off. I was hoping to spend the evening convincing you to play hooky."

He fiddled with the hem of her skirt. It was right there, after all. He bet it would be fun to rip off. "It's not easy to talk me into being derelict of my duty."

Her legs parted a little and he wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not. "I can be very persuasive," she said.

He moved his fingers slowly higher under the fabric. "What did you have in mind?"

Her breathing changed. Just a little, but enough he noticed. "I thought I might say please." She shifted, opening her legs wider. "And if that didn't work, I'd show you some new toys I bought."

"You have my attention." His hand went higher, gliding up the top of her thigh. They nylon ended abruptly in a bit of lace, and he was touching skin. They were stockings. Further exploration revealed the slick feel of a satin garter holding it up.

Eyes dark, Sharon watched him. "Well you found one surprise," she murmured. Leaning back, she braced her hands behind her on the desk. "I figured one way or another, you'd be seeing what was under this tonight."

He rolled his chair closer so he could touch her better. "How many are there?"

"Go a little higher and you'll find another one." Doing so revealed her underwear was all lace, no silk or satin to be found, and already growing damp. Sharon's lids fluttered as he stroked lightly over the lace. "And on the way out of Albany I happened across an adult store and get a new vibrator." She forced her eyes open to look at him. "It has a lot of settings."

He slipped his fingers under the lace. "We should head home."

"Yes," she whispered. "It's dangerous-" He stroked her folds and she gasped, shuddering. "Dangerous here."

"You're right," he said, turning his wrist so he could press the heel off his hand against her.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, head tipping back. A lock of hair slithered out of the tight chignon at the base of her head. "Are you- are we-?"

He stood up, because he wanted to kiss her, and sank two fingers into her heat. "Should I stop?"

She slid forward, tipping her hips so he could slide in as deep as possible. He lazily stroked in and out, enough to drive her crazy, but not enough to get her off. After swallowing hard, she whispered, "I don't want to stop."

He bent and brushed his mouth against hers. She opened it, and then the kiss took off. When he lifted his mouth, he whispered. "Not good enough."  
 Her eyes opened, dark and dazed. She caught his meaning immediately, though. "Please don't stop," she said, lifting into his hand. "Please make me come. Fuck me. Do what ever you want to me. Please."

Her words, the tone of her voice, shot right through him. There was no going back, no going home, no going somewhere safe and discreet. Whatever kind of alchemy they had between had made him lose all sense, and he didn't care.

She made a whimper of protest when he withdrew his hand. There was a moment of genuine panic in her eyes, as if he'd leave her like this—again. But he took her by the hips and pulled her to the edge of the desk and then down onto her feet. She swayed a little before he turned her around and hiked her skirt up to her waist. "This is what I want to do to you."

"Yes. _Please_." She bent forward without any encouragement from him, bracing her hands on his desk. The lace underwear he'd felt turned out to be a black thong, which he'd never seen her in before, framed by a black garter belt with red ties.

He traced the edges, knowing he was keeping her waiting. "I like this."

"The belt or the thong?" she asked, glancing back at him.

"Both." There was no way to get the thong off without undoing the garters, and he was impatient. He gave it a little tug. "Expensive?"

She shook her head. "No." Though she obviously suspected his intentions, so she could have been lying through her teeth. He decided he didn't care, and so he snapped the fabric. She moaned a little, and then he pulled her hips back and thrust inside her. Her body closed around him like a glove, wet and hot and silky. Her arms buckled and she caught herself on her elbows, rocking back against him. He pulled almost entirely out of her before thrusting back in, rocking her up on her toes.

"Please," she whimpered. "Please."

His hands slid up her front, cupping her breasts through the shirt. He popped one of the buttons—it pinged off the desk—so he could get his hand underneath. It was easiest to just shove her bra up so he could feel skin. It was awkward and completely perfect. "The door isn't locked," he told her.

She moaned, long and low, and he felt her whole body shudder. "No," she whispered, thrusting back against him.

He squeezed her thigh with his other hand, holding her where he wanted. "Anybody could just walk right in."

She whimpered again and he felt her squeeze around his cock, obviously getting off on his teasing. "Please, hurry."

The surge of pleasure at that was almost too much. He reached around dip between her legs and press her clit in little circles. "Waiting on you, love."

The touch on her clit made her gasp and she ground herself against him. "Fuck, Steve." From there it seemed to be a swift, heady climb to her orgasm. In a few minutes she was gasping out his name, shuddering and jerking, body clamping down on his cock again and again. He bent over her, fucking her hard enough she went up on her toes again. It was reckless and wild and someone could have walked in right then and neither of them would have even noticed.

He felt her ripple around him again, just as he came, her cries desperate. Then she slumped onto desk, limp and moaning, as he buried himself as deep as he could. He caught himself on his arms before he crushed her, hanging his head to rest between her shoulder blades and just trying to stay upright as the room spun.

She reached behind her, patting his hair, then sinking her fingers into it to hold him there. "That," she said breathlessly. "Was even better than my fantasies."

He chuckled. "Good. And it's good we didn't go home. Your suit would have not survived."

"I'm not entirely sure how much of it survived now."

He pulled back, fixed his pants and inspected her skirt. He tugged it down to reveal the demure slit at the back of her knees was now torn as high as the tops of her garters. The shirt had only been the button, though. "At home I would have ripped the skirt in half," he informed her.

She took a moment to smooth and straighten everything before reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. "Well, then. Let's go home. And I can start making my case for playing hooky tomorrow."

He hugged her right, burying his face in her neck. "I missed you."

"Oh, Steve." Her arms tightened. "I missed you, too. I'd forgot how lonely everything can be without company."

He turned his head to kiss her temple. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all."

Smiling, she leaned back and went up on her toes to kiss him. It was tender and affectionate, with just enough heat for him to haul her up against him. "Home," she murmured. "Please."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a grin.

*

Sharon, it turned out, could be very persuasive when she put her mind to it. She and Steve spend Friday in her cabin, with the lights off and the fire blazing, enjoying each other's company. They talked about work projects, sketching out the basics of their mentoring program while cooking lunch half dressed. Her mother called in the evening and he rubbed her feet as she listened to far too many details of her sister-in-law's labor and delivery. After promising three times to call Matt and congratulate him about her new nephew she was finally able to hang up. Steve told her stories of his mother, the quiet competent nurse, and Bucky's mother, the fiery Irish woman who ruled the neighborhood kids with a wooden spoon and a glare, until she was laughing too hard to be angry at her mother's nagging or jealous of her brother's perfect little family.

The jealousy hadn't been as sharp as it had in the past and she was pretty sure that had a lot to do with the man making her laugh on the other end of the couch. She wasn't sure what to feel about that. They had made it clear this was something far more than sex, but hadn't really spent any time trying to figure out what it was. It wasn't that she needed to label it to be comfortable with it, it was just there was a lot of grey area between "fuck buddies" and "on the cusp of an engagement" and she was starting to wonder, and worry, she might be a little farther along the line than he was. 

Despite her worry and misgiving, she never quite found a way to bring it up over the weekend, convinced it would break the little spell they seemed to cast whenever they were together.

Sunday night, laying in the darkness well past when they should be sleeping, he asked said, "Your family would freak out, wouldn't they?"

For a moment she tried to picture bringing him home for Sunday dinner. "My mother is a Carter by marriage, so she'd probably just see hot blonde guy with dangerous but secure job and start planning the wedding. The rest of them would freak out, yes. If we get into extended family I think we're moving past freak out and into some sort of DEFCON situation."

His sigh sounded oddly sad. "Yeah, that's about what I figured."

It did put a damper on future planning. It hadn't even occurred to her to mention him to her mother when she called. She rubbed her hand over his chest. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is," he replied.

She sighed softly, curling close to him, head on his shoulder. She didn't know what to say, how to make it better. "Are you going to talk to Hill in tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Just to get everything out in the open."

"It will be nice not having to sneak. Share a car coming in and out of work." She nuzzled his jaw a little. "Kiss you hello."

"That sounds like a lot of fun."

"And we'll have dinner with Bucky and Doc. And get teased by Sam and Wanda and it will all be very. . . normal."

"I honestly can't wait. It felt good to tell Bucky. I've been. . . hiding. So much, in so many ways."

She shifted, lifting her head to look at him. "I look forward to not worrying. If I'm looking at you for too long or talking to you too familiarly. Or mention or reference something I'm not supposed to know about you. We can do things together and I don't have to analyze if people will read into it."

"But they will assume we're fooling around in the private workout rooms when we go spar." He tilted his head. "Though. . . not a lie."

Her body flushed with heat and she couldn't help but smile. Sex in his office had been as hot and intense as she'd imagined it to be. What she hadn't expected was his teasing about someone walking in and seeing them. The extra level of arousal that had caused had been nothing short of amazing.

He must have noticed the flush. "Had not pegged your for an exhibitionist."

Pulling herself up to kiss him, she said, "I've been having sex half my life and in a few months with you I've discovered all manner of kinks." She traced her fingertips over his chest. "I don't actually want anyone to watch. But the idea of being caught still. . . winds me up."

"I will keep that in mind. You like a little thrill of danger. Though from experience it's surprisingly _un_ sexy to be actually walked in on."

She laughed. "Oh, I would think so." She resettled her head on his shoulder. "Is that a story I want to hear?"

"Probably not. Other than to note that I accidentally mooned Howard Stark and I think scarred him for life."

Sharon laughed so hard she had to roll away and hold her stomach. When she was done Steve obligingly rolled over to spoon around her. 

"On a related note," she said, still a little breathless. "What level of PDA are you comfortable with."

"Are you asking if we can make-out in the lunchroom?"

"No. I am not sixteen. I was thinking more holding hands and kisses in the hallway."

He tipped his head back to consider. "Not at work. Outside of work. . . I have no problem, but keep in mind it could end up on the internet."

And wouldn't _that_ be a fun conversation with her family. "This is why I ask." She turned her head to kiss him.

"We'll figure it out. I think that's how relationships work."

Relationship. Such a nice word. "I think you're right," she murmured, cuddling back into him.

"I'm always right."

"Of course, dear."


	13. Chapter 13

They drove in separately on Monday morning, as usual, but he let her steal a kiss in the parking lot before heading inside. She was in such a good mood Wanda could probably feel it from her apartment.

At least, she was until she walked into her office and found that the small stack of file boxes in the corner that she periodically dipped into when her other work was slow had grown exponentially, taking up the better part of one wall and blocking her windows. She glared at the newcomers a moment, before turning on her heel an marching to Hill's office.

"Am I being punished for something?" she asked, leaning a shoulder on the door jamb.

Hill looked up. "Now what might you be doing that would warrant punishment?"

Sharon crossed her arms. "You once sent someone to Siberia for taking the last bagel at the cafe at the Hub. And the fate of the guy who changed the hot chocolate syrup remains unknown. I don't pretend to know the workings of your mind."

Hill leaned back in her chair and regarded Sharon. "I want to insert a joke here about sleeping with the boss. But I'm a fan of Steve being happy."

There was no way he'd had time to have The Talk with her. It was possible Hill was fishing, but she wasn't one to bluff without an ace in her hand. "How long have you known?"

"After the mission when you got conked, I had something I need to discuss with him. I asked to be pinged when Steve badged back in to the apartment building so I could call him. It was Monday."

"He got snowed in," she said completely neutrally.

"Of course," she replied, in the exact same tone.

"Try to keep a straight face when he comes to have a very serious conversation with you later."

"Don't spoil my fun."

Sharon's mouth twitched. "Are you going to mess with him?"

"I've been thinking about it. He's just such an easy target."

She shook her head. "He's already a little afraid of you."

"That's not a bad thing." She typed something on her computer. "Why were you asking if you were being punished?"

"The boxes," she replied, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. "They've multiplied."

"We found a cache of very old Hydra files." 

Sharon stifled a sigh. "Is this an at my leisure kind of thing or do we have a deadline?"

"Leisure. They're pretty old. There's some stuff in there labeled Carter, might be to your interests."

That could be good or bad. "I'll see how much staring at the stack bothers me. Poke at it a bit." Reading Hydra files was generally stretches of boring with occasional stops at creepy and absurdly evil. One had to be in just the right mood to dive in.

"I can get you more filing cabinets."

Sharon resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the other woman. "Captain Rogers and I are going to move forward on the mentorship program."

"Do you always call him Captain Rogers?" She held up a hand. "Sorry. Yes. Let me know what you need as far as budget. Steve ran it down for me briefly, I liked what I saw."

"He's going to touch base with Barton about taking Bishop for a few weeks. I'd like to give her an allowance of some sort so she's not totally dependent on them. I'll talk to the mentors here about their needs. Shouldn't be too much to start with. And no, but we're attempting to keep the lines between business and personal clear." Desk sex notwithstanding. She hoped that last thought didn't show on her face.

"Good. That would have been weird."

"I agree." She pushed off the door. "I'll keep you posted on the mentor stuff. Need anything in the mean time?"

"No." She paused. "Been kicking around the idea a couple of us girls should go out and have a drink."

Sharon had to make a conscious effort to school her face. "I'm sure Wanda would be interested in that."

"Amanda, too." Hill nodded. "I'll put it on our calendars."

"I look forward to that." She returned the nod and headed back to her office. That might have been the strangest conversation she'd ever had with Hill. And that was saying something.

Most of the day was spent doing one on ones with her team, checking on on how they were doing and telling them about the mentorship program. The reaction was overwhelmingly positive, as she'd expected and she cancelled their training for the afternoon so they could process in private. She hadn't seen Steve, but got a text from him that read _Barton OK with trading manual labor for training._ so she told Kate Bishop she'd be getting a free trip to Italy in a couple weeks. The shrieking and hugging lasted a while.

She and Steve had planned to meet up for sparring in the evening. His scheduled showed he had a late meeting, so she decided to dig into the Hydra files for a while to kill time.

The box on top didn't have anything with her name on it and seemed to be from the middle of the Cold War. It wasn't exactly bedtime reading. A lot of projects and plans, mostly for weapons. Hydra's claim to have fingers in a variety of governments seemed to be accurate. So most of the weapons seemed designed to prolong the stalemate as long as possible. Countries working together didn't advance Hydra's goals. It was dark, depressing material written dryly and dispassionately. Sharon found her threshold for it was pretty low, so she packed up the rest of the files and decided to go take out her aggressions on one of the punching bags in the private sparring rooms.

"Bad day?"

She managed not to jump at the sound of Steve's voice, but it was a near thing. She'd really been in the zone. "Most of it was fine," she said, bouncing on her toes and glaring at the bag. "I'm going through some old Hydra files. They're no fun."

"I don't imagine they would be."

"Did you talk to Hill?" she asked, taking a few swings at the bag.

He came around behind the bag to brace it. "I did. She asked me if they'd taught me about condoms in the 1940's."

That, at least, made Sharon laugh. "Did you tell her about the ration packs?"

"I told her I didn't believe in protection because I wanted to breed an army of super soldiers."

And Hill had thought he was an easy target. "Now it comes out. I knew you picked me for a reason."

"We would make the most profoundly all-American looking babies. They'd be on baby food commercials."

Sharon had to admire a man who could joke about kids with a woman over thirty and not fear the ticking clock. “Feed them nothing but apple pie and Coca Cola,” she said punching the bag a few more times, ending in a round house.

“You know I hate apple pie.” He paused. “Not for nothing, but you’re hot when you’re angry.”

“I’m more of a meringue person, myself. And thank you.” Stepping away from the bag, she tilted her head. “Would you rather I take my aggressions out on you?”

One corner of his mouth lifted, and he stepped back and shook his arms out. “You wanna go?”

She yanked the tape off her hands in a couple quick motions, ignoring the sting of hair being pulled out. “Always.”

The half-smile turned into a full grin, and he danced on his feet. “Don’t hurt yourself, now.”

Sometimes, he really was distractingly attractive. “Are you baiting me, Rogers?” she asked, advancing on him carefully, watching his feet.

“Of course I am. Is it working?”

“Hell yes.” She kicked out at his right knee, slow enough he could react, and caught him with a left hook when he danced that way.

He rubbed his jaw. “You are in a mood.”

She knew she couldn’t have hurt him much, if any. She’d pulled the punch and he was, well, him. “Someone was baiting me,” she teased. “C’mon. Show me something.”

He shrugged and said, “You asked for it,” and lunged at her, and suddenly they were fighting for real. It was still sparring, but more like the kind he did with Barnes. No one was gonna end up dead, but bruises were fair game. She stopped pulling her punches and he seemed rather serious about getting her off her feet.

It was, if she was honest, exhilarating. She’d been doing marital arts since she was seven, all blonde pigtails and missing front teeth. And because of her experience with Peggy, she’d been fearless, strong, and motivated. Often paired up with kids older and bigger than her, she’d gotten used to it, thrived on it. This felt the same. Though none of the pre-teen boys she’d been paired with looked quite so good when they got sweaty and pulled their shirts off. Which, of course, he did. Steve was a fan of taking every tactical advantage he could get.

That Captain America fought dirty was on the list of things not a lot of people knew.

They danced back and forth across the room. When they passed the punching bag she lashed out and kicked it towards him. He turned, lifting a forearm to bat it away and she tackled him like a wrestler, hitting him at his center of gravity and using the fact he was off balance to take him down. Before he could recover, she grabbed his wrists, pinned them to the mat and kissed him roughly.

He bucked up his hips like he was trying to knock her off, but he met the kiss with equal ferocity. She shifted back, sitting down firmly on him to hold him down. Yes, naturally, he could haul her off without breaking a sweat. But he hadn’t even tried to move his wrists.

After a quick glance to make sure the door was fully closed, she let go of his arms and sat up, yanking her sports bra up over her head. He grabbed both sides of her shorts, and the underwear beneath, and ripped them in half. Then he wrapped her ponytail around his hand and pulled her back down for a kiss.

It was rough, almost angry, and it heated her blood. She braced her forearms on either side of his head, pressing her breasts to his chest. His hand tightened in her hair, holding her down, and she groaned into his mouth, grinding against the bulge of his cock, still encased in his sweats.

He tugged her head up a little by her hair, breaking the kiss, to growl, “Take them off.”

When she tried to move down and push them off he wouldn’t let her hair go. She nipped at his lip, but moved her arms down, laying on him completely, so she could use her hands and one foot to shove the waistband of his pants down.

“Good girl,” he told her. He left his free hand slide over her skin, never lingering anywhere, burning her nonetheless. “Fuck me.”

It was awkward, but she managed to shift her hips down, lining him up so she could slid him into her wet heat. She turned and kissed his wrist before nipping at the skin hard enough to leave a hickie. “Let me up so I can do it properly.”

He released her hair slowly, almost as if he hadn’t really realized he was doing it. Then he whispered, “Please.”

She kissed him lightly and sat up, grinning. She ran her hands over his chest, mapping him, then started to move, using her abs and thighs to rock up and down his length. It felt so good, every inch of him dragging along her walls. She closed her eyes so she could focus on the sensations, savor it. Steve sat up abruptly, wrapping his arms around her and cupping the back of her neck with one hand. Instinctively, she gave a little resistance as he pulled her in for a kiss. It seemed to rile him up again and his kiss was rough.

In this position she couldn’t move the way she had been, rocking in shorter strokes. It was deeper and more intense. She gasped into his mouth, shuddering, clutching at his shoulders. He thrust up to her, and they moved together, grinding as much as anything else. He cupped one breast and tugged her nipple just hard enough for a tiny shot of pain. It drew a little cry from her, which seemed to be what he’d wanted. She felt him kiss her neck, sucking hard enough she was pretty sure she’d have to wear a scarf for a few days.

The grinding tugged at her clit, hit all the right spots inside her, and heat started to build up inside. She’d thought she’d need him - want him - to tell her how dangerous sex at work was, to wind up that little love of danger she had. But this was enough. Wild, rough and urgent.  
 “Close,” she whispered against his mouth. “So close.”

He made a desperate sound. “I know. I can feel it.”

She cupped the back of his head and kissed him, rough, open mouthed and explicit. He gripped her hips and hauled her closer and her pleasure spilled over. Her cry was lost in his mouth and she ground down on him helplessly, riding it out. A shudder passed through his body and he bucked up again. She could feel him coming with her.

They slumped against each other, panting and sheened in sweat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, hugging him tightly. He rubbed her back, stroking his fingers up and down her spine. The rougher the sex they had, the gentler he was afterwards, as if to remind her of the tenderness that lay beneath it all.

She was starting to think - no she was becoming quite certain - that she was falling in love with him. Part of her was rather relieved those parts still worked. The rest of her was horribly, irrationally afraid. If she loved him, then he could be taken from her. Become another in the long list of things she had lost that weighed down on her. That broke her heart.

That wasn't something to think about now. Right now she was naked and warm and happy, in his lap and safe from the world. She could love him privately, hidden away inside, and deal with the rest of the world later.

Lifting her head she kissed his cheek. "I feel better now," she said softly.

"Well, I should hope so," he said with a chuckle. Then he sobered and added, "Good."

She cupped his face and kissed him, hoping some of the emotion she was feeling came through in it. "Home?" she asked softly.

He met her eyes, and she saw something mirrored back in them, that odd mix of hope and fear. "Home."

*

"I'm telling you, there are women that anti-Valentines and there are women that are not." Sam had a very particular tone of voice that meant he wasn't going to just keep going until he'd said his peace. So Steve sighed and let him go. "Doc. Doc is an anti-Valentines kind of girl. I'm guessing if Barnes showed up with flowers and chocolates she'd rupture something laughing. But I will bet you all the money in Stark's vault that Sharon's a flowers and chocolates kind of gal. Or at least she was once."

"So. . . now she's not?"

Sam gave him a look. "Look, not to get too personal, but I get the vibe off of her that the last couple years have been hard. It's a look I know all too well. Especially around here." He lifted a shoulder. "Maybe she'd like a reminder of the girl she used to be."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We both have had a rough time."

"Then maybe both of you would like a little old fashioned Valentine’s romance."

"You know I have no idea what the hell that means, right?"

Sam shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Admittedly, my experience is not _entirely_ relevant. But some combination of nice dinner, flowers, chocolate, thoughtful present, and sex seems to be a reliable go-to."

Most of that sounded like fun. Particularly the last part. "You don't think she'll think it's silly?"

"Maybe a little. But maybe she'll like that. It doesn't always have to be serious and intense. Sometimes it can be overpriced roses and a stuffed animal."

"If this goes south I'm going to blame you."

"I accept that. She scares me, but I have wings."

That made Steve laugh. "Fair enough. I have to go find some flowers."


	14. Chapter 14

The flowers cost him a hundred damn dollars. Sometimes modern pricing still got to him, but the Valentine's Day markup took things to an extreme. Dinner reservations were impossible to get, so he had to settle for something he could cook. And then he had to kind of, a little bit, break into her place to cook it before she got home.

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised she came in with her gun drawn. The way her jaw dropped when she saw him was kind of hilarious, though. "What on earth?"

"Sam told me I should do something for Valentine’s Day." He winced. He shouldn't have said that out loud.

She holstered the gun and unhooked the holster from her belt. It went on her table as she closed the distance between him. "You- you're making me dinner. For Valentines."

He couldn't read her face. "Too much?"

"No." She slid her arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze, pressing her face into his arm a moment. "I'm just surprised. I didn't think-" She shook her head and when she leaned back she was smiling. "Let me go change into something Valentines date appropriate."

"Sounds good." He hoped that meant fancy underwear, but it seemed inappropriate to outright ask.

She kissed his cheek and disappeared into the bedroom. He didn't really know how long it took a modern woman to get ready for a date, but was confident that it would be worth the wait.

The steaks were resting and he was pulling the potatoes out of the oven when she reemerged. Her hair was loose and lightly curled and she might have touched up her make up. The business casual work clothes were gone and she had on a figure hugging red and grey wrap dress, tied in a neat bow over her left hip. It hit just at her knee, but showed a good bit of cleavage and the hint of a red lace bra. She hadn't put on shoes, but was wearing dark nylons that he would bet money ended in lace and garters. If this was what she could put together on a few minutes notice, an actual planned date probably wouldn’t make it out of her driveway.

Really, all he could do was whistle.

She grinned and did a twirl, skirt swishing. He put the potatoes on the table and held her chair out for her. Her smile looked absolutely delighted as she slid into the chair. He grinned back and pointed at the coffee table. "Roses," he said. "I was told they were the thing to buy." He didn't mention they'd cost more than the army had paid him for volunteering with Erskine.

"I love roses," she said, looking over at the impressive bouquet. There was just enough wistfulness in her tone to convince him she was sincere and honestly touched. It took a bit of the sting out of the price tag. 

She looked back at him. "This is all very sweet. Thank you."

"I have a present, too. But eat your dinner first."

He brought the steaks and wine over and poured her a big glass before sitting himself. She dug into her food with her usual post-work gusto, making little impressed, appreciative noises as she did so. "So Sam talked you into this?" she teased, sipping her wine.

"He may have made some suggestions."

"I'll make sure to express my gratitude next time I see him."

He poked her foot with his. "I like making you happy."

Her cheeks flushed a little and she rubbed her foot along his ankle. "You don't need to go to all this trouble to make me happy. But the effort is very, very appreciated."

"A little trouble is worth it, now and then." He ate some steak. "This stuff. . . this is stuff I've never done."

She reached out to splash a little more wine into her glass. "To be honest I haven't done much of it either. And not for a long time. It's hard to date, doing what I did for SHIELD. And dating other agents." She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, spearing some potatoes on her fork. "Never seemed like a good idea."

"It worked for Romanov and Barton."

"I'm not entirely sure I would call their arrangement 'dating.' Though I know they're happy."

"I don't know what we're calling this," he said. "But I'm happy, too."

She curled her fingers around his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "That's all I need." Her voice was a little choked up and she cleared her throat and took her hand back so they could keep eating. "So you got me a present, too?"

"Well. Technically, I made it."

"You made-" Her eyes lit up. "Did you draw me something?"

The delight on her face soothed his nerves. "I did."

"Oh, now I can't wait." She dug into her dinner with renewed gusto.

When they were done, he cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink. He remembered, while he was doing it, that he'd wanted to put music on, but had been too distracted to remember. Sharon made her way over to the coffee table and picked up the vase to inhale the scent of the flowers.

He took the opportunity to turn the music on now, a blend of 30s jazz he remembered from his old life and some newer stuff Sam had recommended. He'd hooked his iPod into Sharon's speaker system and hit the play list. Etta James started crooning "At Last" and he saw Sharon smile, swaying a little to the music as she set the vase back down.

Steve strolled over to her. "Would you like to dance?" In response, she turned to him and slid a hand up his arm, curling it around his shoulder. He took her other hand in his and flattened a palm on her back, drawing her close against him as they moved together.

"Natasha taught me," he murmured. "She told me she was not going to allow me to turn my inability to dance into a shrine."

Sharon laughed softly. "Well, she did a good job. You're very graceful."

"She insisted someday I would want to dance with someone." He kissed her temple, nuzzling her skin a little. "And look, she was right."

She turned her head and caught his mouth, kissing him softly. "This is the best Valentines I have ever had," she told him.

"And we still have our clothes on." 

"Mmm." She pressed closer to him and he let his hand wander a little lower. "That's true," she murmured. "It could get better." Yep, there was definitely the outline of a garter belt under her dress. But, he suddenly realized, no underwear line.

He groaned, wondering if it was a thong again. Or nothing. He could work with that. He found the hem of her dress and tugged it up. His hands slid over silky nylon and garters before resting on her bare ass. No thong, just the garters and stockings. Sharon damn near purred at the contact. "I know how you like the garters," she murmured.

With a smile he dropped the skirt and whispered, "Let me give you your present first."

"As you wish." She let him go so he could retrieve it from the overnight bag he'd brought.

He'd framed it and wrapped it, and when he handed it to her, he felt like a little kid again. There wasn't much left that could make Steve nervous quite like this. But the gift was very personal, and the moment it was out of his hands he wondered if maybe it was too much. If it said too much and would scare her. Or worse, that it said too much and she wouldn't notice.

She slid her finger under the taped ends and peeled the paper off carefully, which amused him a little. He'd have pegged her for a paper tearer for sure. Then she turned it over to study the drawing.

It was her, lounging in front of the fire as she had on the weekend of the blizzard. It was an intimate portrait, there was little doubt she was naked, but he'd been careful to keep it clean enough she could display it if she wanted. It was from memory, but it was a memory he treasured and held dear, and that had come through in the work.

She studied it a long time, thumb running over the edge of the simple wood frame he'd put it in. His nerves were threatening to overwhelm him when she looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Steve, this is beautiful," she whispered. "I don't know what to say."

He sat next to her. Cleared his throat twice. "I think 'thank you' is the sort of thing people usually say." He reached up to stop one of the tears that broke loose. "Hey, I didn't mean to-"

One hand curled behind his neck and she pulled him close, cutting off the words with a kiss. He heard the soft clatter of the frame being placed on her end table and then her other arm was around him too. The kiss was deep and urgent and held all the emotions that neither one of them seemed able to express. It was a kiss the told him the picture hadn't been too much, or said too much. That whatever there was between them she was as lost in it as he was. And as helpless to say it.

Maybe it wasn't necessary to say anything. Maybe this was enough. He shifted them so he could lay her on her back on the couch, and unwrap her dress. The tie easily came undone and he parted the fabric to reveal a flimsy bra of black mesh and red lace that seemed to be more packaging than support. The garter belt was the same one she'd worn under her suit, neatly framing the thatch of damp curls hiding her sex. He bent and kissed her nipple through the bra, but he left it on, working his way down her body until she arched beneath him, before he finally reached her center. She rewarded him with a desperate cry and clutched at his hair, but he took his sweet time.

By this point he knew her body as well as his own. Better, perhaps. He could make her come in under a minute or make it last all night. And God, did he love her desperate. So he drew it out, winding her up and ignoring her fingers tightening in his hair or the restless movement of her legs.

Finally, he cupped her thighs, holding her still, wide open, as he zeroed in on her clit. Immediately, she was lifting up into his mouth. "Please," she whispered, sounding wild and desperate. "Please, I'll do anything. Please let me-"

He lifted his mouth. "Patience."

She whimpered, fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. " _Steve_."

He eased two fingers into her, fucking her with them slowly. "I know." He loved doing this. Focusing on her, without being distracted by his own pleasure. It was the best kind of torment.

He dropped light kisses on her belly and thighs, stroking her just enough to keep her on edge. When her pulse had slowed a little he brought his mouth back to her sex, sucking her clit between his lips. He brought her right up to the edge again, then backed off, causing her to curse a blue streak inventive enough to make him laugh. 

The third time he started licking at her now swollen folds, she pulled out the big guns. Her hands turned gentle and coaxing on his hair. "Please," she said, in that particular tone they both knew drove him mad. "Please, Steve. Fuck me, claim me, get my toys. Anything you want, I'm yours. Just please make me come. _Please_."

Honestly, he could listen to her beg him like that all day. He had to concentrate past his own aching arousal to process her words, to decide what would do best to stretch this out just a little bit longer. "Toys," he murmured, bending to kiss her mouth. "Got it." Then he got up off the couch.

He heard her mutter, "God _dammit_ ," as he went. She really only had herself to blame. A little concerned she might take matters into her own hands, so to speak, he jogged to her nightstand and rummaged, pulling out her new, very intricate vibrator.

When he got back to the living room she'd propped herself up on her elbows to watch the door. She was flushed and rumpled, breathing hard. And was, in that moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. Her gaze went from his face to the toys in his hand, then back as he reached her. "Bastard," she said, with a remarkable amount of affection.

He turned the new one on. She'd calmed a little now, with the wait, so he had to ramp her back up. The little silver colored orb started to buzz. He drew it up one of her thighs, then down the other, then up to circle it around her nipples, watching them stiffen, peaking against the mesh of her bra. Her breath quickened and her legs trembled, but she stayed propped up, watching him, almost challenging.

Never one to back down from a challenge he fiddled with the controls, set the vibrator to a pattern that ramped up and down randomly, then placed the orb against her sex. Sharon sucked in a breath, hips bucking, but held his gaze as he slowly circled the vibe around her clit.

"Feels like cheating," he whispered.

Her mouth quirked up in a little smile. "But you get a better view." He clicked the intensity up a little and her lids fluttered. Her hips started to rock, rubbing herself against the vibe. "You get to watch what you do to me."

"I will _never_ get tired of this." He stroked her thigh. "Though maybe of just watching."

Shifting a little, she reached out and rubbed a foot along his leg. "Does that mean I can come?"

He turned the vibe up higher. "Yeah, baby, you can."

Her response was lost in a moan as he pressed the toy tight against her clit. Her head fell back and she lifted her hips again and again. "Fuck, yes," she whispered. "Please, please." She screamed and her back arched, her whole body gone taunt and trembling. Unable to resist, he sank two fingers into her so he could feel as well as watch. Her body clenched around him and she shook, whimpering.

He stroked her gently as she calmed. He loved the way she felt like this, slick and soft and swollen. He was dying to sink into her, but patience went both ways.

She caught her breath and her eyes fluttered open. She managed a drowsy smile, laying limp against the couch cushions. "I love your hands." she murmured, stretching her own out to cup it over his fly. She stroked the outline of his cock before snapping open the button. "But I need to feel you now."

He let her undress him. "I'm yours, too," he said, more emotion than he'd intended in his voice.

It was enough to make her pause and meet his gaze. Her eyes were bright again, but she smiled. "Good," she said softly. She tugged his pants down, joining him on the floor in front of the fire. They kissed, almost gently at first, then rougher and deeper. Sharon leaned back, pulling him down on top of her. He felt her legs wrap around his waist, her stockings sliding against his skin. Then he was sinking into her, wet and hot, closing around him as if she'd been made for him. She stretched her arms over her head and he reached for them, so he could brace on his elbows and lace their fingers together. So he could kiss her. This was about so much more than sex. He felt at peace and at home and like right now all the ugly turns and twists in his life had been worth it, just for this. For them.

They moved together, slowly back and forth, bodies sliding against each other. So good. Perfect even.

He felt the first little flutters around him that meant she was close. He was almost sorry, he didn't want this moment to end. Then she lifted her head, kissing his mouth, and whispered in his ear, "Take what you need. Come for me."

It was her pleading voice, but she wasn't asking for anything for herself. It struck something, somewhere inside. And not just because it was so damn hot. So he took her up on it, and he let go of his careful control, finding a pace that was maybe a little too rough, but felt better than anything.

She gasped, sounding almost surprised. Her fingers flexed on his and she pulled her legs up higher, drawing her knees up to her shoulders. It tightened her around him and everything seemed to blur together. The tight, hot feel of her. The soft, desperate sounds she made. He let go and felt her arch and clench in her own pleasure as his swept though him.

He just caught himself before he collapsed on top of her, managing to roll off to the side. His limbs didn't work right anymore. But he did pull her close and bury his face in her neck. She slung an arm around him, holding herself close as they both calmed, tangled together.

His brain had only just started working again and he was trying to find something appropriately profound to say when she mumbled, "Have you noticed we don't have very much sex in an actual bed?"

"Variety is fun," he informed her. He brushed her hair off her fore?head. "And this was a special occasion."

"Best Valentines ever," she murmured, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. "Thank you."

He pulled her closer. "You keep me warm," he told her.

She gave him a squeeze. "And you are my light," she replied, voice soft.


	15. Chapter 15

The second half of February passed in a blur. They had another small snow storm, just before March. Sharon and Steve spent it at her cabin, building a second dresser for her bedroom for his clothes to fit in. They never really had a conversation about it, it just seemed to happen. He'd been living out of a duffel bag and the handful of shirts that he'd left accidentally. It had been weeks since he'd spent more than a few hours at his apartment. Giving him somewhere to keep his things seemed natural. So they'd built a dresser and rearranged her bedroom furniture, all without having to pinpoint what it all meant. It was no different than him having a favorite couch blanket and coffee mug. He was a part of her life and her home needed to reflect that.

March came in with a streak of warm weather, just in time for Steve to borrow a plane from Stark and escort Kate Bishop to Italy for her training with the Bartons. Sharon sent him off with a contained, business appropriate goodbye, telling herself it was only a week. And the first few days weren't awful. She was busy at work and could distract herself in the evenings with a book or cleaning or restocking her emergency supplies.

Then she woke up Saturday morning, alone in a chilly bed, a new blanket of snow shining pure white out her window.

It was the kind of morning they would have bundled up and gone into town for breakfast, maybe stopped at the grocery store on the way back to restock. Then spend the day cooking and telling stories. The beginning of a good weekend.

Alone, Sharon had to resist the urge to cover her head with the blankets and sulk. Instead, she rolled over and found herself staring at the picture Steve had drawn of her. After the furniture rearranging she had propped it up on her dresser, the picture of him she had inherited from Peggy tucked in the corner of the frame. He had almost certainly noticed the arrangement, but hadn't said anything. If he did, her answer was simple. She might not have known him when he was skinny. But that was the man she was with, was falling in love with. The rest of the world saw Captain America. Sharon only ever wanted Steve.

The portrait of her still stunned her a bit. It was beautiful, a better than perfect likeness of her. If she hadn't know better she would have assumed she had sat for hours while he drew it. But he had done it entirely from memory. She could count on one hand the number of people whose face she knew as well as he obviously knew hers. It was humbling and flattering and a little intimidating, if she thought about it too long. She had come to term with the idea she was falling in love with him. Evidence that he most likely loved her in return was a different thing entirely.

_"You keep me warm."_ She could still hear the words rumbling under her ear. They were the both of them dancing around this thing between them. For similar reasons, she imagined. If they admitted it was real, that it was love and commitment and a future, then it could be lost. And fate seemed to delight in taking things from both of them.

He'd told her he stopped drawing, had only just picked it up again when they started. . . whatever this was. That being with her brought color to his life and art.

She hadn't taken any pictures since the Triskelion fell. Oh, she'd brought a point and shoot to family gatherings and kid's birthdays and dutifully sent her mother memory cards to distribute to the family. But she hadn't dug out her fancy camera, hadn't wandered out to find interesting angles and compositions. She'd stalled in her art, as much as Steve had.

The skinny little guy in the faded photo seemed to glare at her, probably thinking the same words Peggy had always told her. Strong is getting up.

So she tossed the blankets off and got up. The floor was cold under her feet, but she went out into the main part of the cabin, started up her coffee, then ventured into the spare bedroom she'd used to store all the odds and ends she hadn't gotten around to unpacking. There in the corner was her camera gear, neatly labeled and carefully boxed up.

It took a while to find everything. The camera body, bag and her two main lenses were in one box. But finding the spare batteries, big memory cards, other lenses and various cords took a bit of hunting. She dragged everything into the living room and plugged the batteries in to charge as she made breakfast and assembled her bag.

Deciding which lenses to bring required a certain amount of dithering. The macro would be good for icicles or any plants or nature shots. But it was more likely any animals she came across would keep their distance, so a zoom lens would be more practical. Then again, she hadn't been out shooting a while, maybe she should just keep it simple and not try to change lenses in the field.

In the end, she decided more options were better, so she tucked her zoom lens, camera, a spare battery and two memory cards into her bag. A bottle of water and granola bar went into her coat, a hunting knife went into her snow boot and she headed out the back door and into the snow.

There was a long narrow stretch of woods that ran behind her house, eventually ending in a small state park about two miles east. She headed for the trees, feet sinking into the fresh snowfall, leaving a clear path from her door up across the yard. The spy in her got a little twitchy at that, but she reminded herself this was a pleasant stroll, not a mission.

She stopped at the tree line and turned to take a couple pictures of her cabin. From this angle, her immediate neighbors were hidden, giving the illusion it was alone in a vast plain of white. The pictures looked very. . . Thomas Kincaid, and she laughed at herself before continuing into the trees. There was some sort of irony to trying to find her muse in the winter. It wasn't like she or Steve were clamoring for pictures of snow and ice. Well, maybe she could find the beauty in it. Make it seem cozy.

The walk through the woods was remarkably relaxing. She stopped here and there to take shots of an interesting tree or fallen log. At one point, she lay down on the ground to take a picture straight up at the tree stretching out above her. When she got up she somehow managed to dump snow down her back, making her dance a little to get it out, squeaking. 

Now damp, with the cold starting to get to her fingers, she considered going back. But if she gauged right she was almost at the park and she hadn't had a chance to use her zoom yet. So she switched lenses and continued her hike a little quicker, keeping an eye out for birds or deer.

After an hour of wandering the park she had a couple pictures of squirrels, some small brightly colored birds she would need the internet to identify and a kite that had been circling a clearing, obviously looking for prey. All in all, not a bad morning's work. She put her normal lens back on and pointed herself west to head home.

She'd only gotten a few dozen steps when she heard something in the brush a few yards off the rough trail she was following. Sharon froze, squinting into the trees. It was probably a couple squirrels, fighting over a buried nut or something. Her gut told her it was something else, though. She tucked her camera back in its bag and set the bag on the ground, then tugged the hunting knife out of her boot.

A growl came from the bushes and Sharon caught a glimpse of black fur. Her first thought was _wolf_ , but she was entirely sure there were any around here. Then the brush parted more to reveal a large black and white dog, long fur tangled and matted, with something wrapped around its throat that appeared to be caught in the bushes. It spotted her and woofed quietly before whining low in its throat.

"Hi, buddy," she said, taking a careful step closer. "You stuck on something?" The dog's tail wagged a little and its face looked almost hopeful. 

Now fairly confident it wasn't going to attack her, she made her way over to the animal and inspected the thing on its neck. It appeared to be a length of rope that had been tied at his neck and then snapped. The trailing end was wrapped around a fallen branch that had gotten wedged between two saplings.

"Easy, easy." She spoke calmly and softly, petting his big head. With a quick movement, she cut the rope where it was tied on the dog's neck and stepped back in case the action startled him. Sure enough, he surged forward, stumbled, then seemed to realize he was free and went running off. 

Sharon tucked the knife back in her boot and went to retrieve her gear. Hopefully, he'd find somewhere to live that knew what a proper leash and collar looked like.

She hiked her way out of the park and followed the thin tree line back to her yard, taking the occasional picture of the landscape and the distant farms. She was less than a mile to her door when she heard the crunch of steps behind her and turned to find the dog trailing along behind her. 

It stopped when she stopped, sitting in the snow and panting, looking at her expectantly. "Seriously?" she said, crossing her arms. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? A nice lady dog to chase?"

He didn't react, just sat and waited. Sharon sighed and turned back, walking again. The crunch started up behind her and this time she glanced back without stopping to find the dog plodding along behind her a few steps behind.

When she reached her door it was still following her. She stopped on her back porch and turned to face him. He wagged his tail and gave her that same hopeful look. "Fine. I'll get you some water and take you to the town vet. I'm sure he'll know what to do with you." There were wounds around his neck where the rope had been that probably needed looking at anyway.

She gave the dog a cereal bowl of water, which he gulped down while she stowed her camera gear, changed into dry clothes and ate a granola bar. Then she looked up the address for the closest vet open on Saturday, loaded the dog into her SUV and headed into town.

 The vet was a grizzled old guy who looked like a small town animal doctor. He clucked over the wounds on the dogs neck, chuckled at her tale of being followed home and congratulated her on her new pet over her strong objections. He did have his vet tech shave and groom the dog while she waited and she left with a bag of ointment and gauze to bandage the (confirmed male) dog's neck. He looked much better cleaned up, fur a pretty black and white pattern with amber brown eyes. The doctor and techs had speculated at his breed but no one came to any conclusions.  
 Stopping at the pet store on the way home to get food, chew toys, bowls and a bed was just practical. It made sense to take care of the dog until its neck was healed up. Then maybe she could find a rescue or neighbor willing to take it. This was absolutely not her getting a dog. She was busy, worked long hours. She did not have room in her life for a dog.

Though, she had to admit, he was pretty good company as she looked through the pictures she'd taken and cooked dinner. And she did sleep better with him quietly snoring in his dog bed by the banked fire in her room.

Sunday morning the dog did not let her sleep in. After letting him out for a pee and a romp in the snow they sat down for breakfast together. "I should call you something other that 'dog' shouldn't I?" He glanced up at the sound of her voice before going back to his food. She sipped her coffee. "I thought you were a wolf when I first saw you. But you kind of look like a panda bear. Or a cow." That got her a baleful look. Whatever breed he was, he was a smart sucker. "Fine, no cow names."

He finished his foot and came over, resting his chin on her knee. She petted his head, scratching just above the gauze bandage. "How about Wolfgang? Wolfie." His tail thumped against the floor, probably in reaction to her scratching than the name. Still, it was a good enough name. She needed something to call him. "Good boy, Wolfie," she murmured.

After changing his bandages and building up the fire, she ventured back into the spare room for her picture printer and paper. Wolfgang followed her in, watching her dig through boxes. It occurred to her it was a nice little room, with good morning light. It would make a nice office or art studio. She could set up her desk and printer on one wall and maybe a drafting table and easel for Steve on the other. They could pursue their arts together. Maybe with a dog sprawled in the sun between them.

She looked over at Wolfie, lounging by the door. "Am I crazy, thinking like this?" she asked the dog. The fact she was asking a dog probably answered the question for her. Still, the image in her mind felt soothing and happy. It didn't feel crazy to plan a life, a future, with Steve in it. It felt. . . healing.

And that was how she spent Sunday afternoon cleaning out all the boxes from the spare room. She unpacked what she good, boxing up stuff she didn't want and lining it next to the door to take to Goodwill. Everything else went up in the loft to be dealt with at another time. By dinner time she had an empty room, her printing equipment set up on a couple of spare end tables. When Steve got back she could broach the idea of a studio and they could shop for some furniture together.

Monday, Wolfie followed her to the door when she tried to leave for work, looking forlorn when she tried to send him back to his bed. Before she knew it she was packing up a can of food and his bed in her car and taking him into work. He lounged next to her desk while she made calls and started in on her Hydra files.

"These people were really fucked up," she informed the dog when she had to get up to open the next box. She was really looking forward to Steve coming home. Wolfie was good company but a terrible conversationalist.

This box had files labeled Carter, which Hill had mentioned off hand. The box was labeled "Lethe," which seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it. If she got bored enough she supposed she could look it up. Scooping up an armload of files, she carried them back to her desk and continued to slog through them.

It took a couple of folders for her to realized what she was looking at and a pit began to form in her stomach. Suddenly, this wasn't so boring.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve was tired when he landed. His body clock was all messed up, and all he wanted to do was take a nap. He should go home. His apartment was right there, of course, but _home_ , when he thought of it, had come to mean Sharon's. And more than he wanted to be there, he wanted to see her. Part of him had been hoping she'd be waiting for him when he landed, but maybe that was one of the things that was too much.

Not to say there was no one there to meet him. Hill was there, for his two sentence debrief - Bishop was fitting in fine, the Bartons will beat her into shape To his surprise she waved it away and said, "You need to go check on Carter."

He stopped in his tracks. "What's wrong?"

"You know the Hydra files she's been going over?" He nodded sharply. "She found something and she won't tell me what it is. I suspect because she knew I'd take her off it. She's been locked in her office for a couple of days. Wanda can't even go down the hall. Says Sharon is usually quiet but right now she's letting off a tangle of very negative stuff."

He frowned. "All right. Thanks."

Hill nodded and called after him as he strode away, "And watch out for the dog."

There was a light on in Sharon's office when he approached it, but no response when he knocked. It was locked, but Hill had him worried enough he snapped the handle and shoved it open.

The first thing he saw was paper. Sheets of paper were pinned in neat lines along two walls. She'd shoved her desk out of the way and the center of the room was now dominated by a huge, free standing whiteboard covered in her neat hand writing in various pen colors. Sharon sat in front of it, on the floor, file boxes open next to her, reading something intently. Next to her was a large, fluffy black and white dog with gauze bandages wrapped around its neck.

He stood there for a minute, just taking it in. "Sharon?"

She jumped, papers falling from her hands. The dog growled at her reaction and she settled it with and hand on its back. "Steve," she said, sounding a little confused. "You're back."

"I am," he said hesitantly, wondering if he should call Sam. Or Doc. "Are you. . . What is all this?" he gestured at the room. He'd deal with the dog issue later.

She looked around, following the motion of his hand. He could see the moment it registered to her what it must look like for him walking in. She sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. "Shit." She sat like that for a moment, hiding her face, then dropped her hands into her lap and slumped. "I found something in the Hydra files. I wanted to get to the bottom of it before telling anyone." She paused and answered his next question before he could ask it. "I knew Hill would take it away from me if I didn't."

He came closer, curiosity waring with concern. "What did you find?"

For a moment she looked sad, almost heartbroken. Then her face tightened and she said softly, "It's about Peggy."

He sat down on the floor next to her. "Tell me."

She took a deep breath. "In the late 80s Hydra scientists started experimenting with mind altering chemicals. Well, they'd been tinkering with them for a long time, but had abandoned the research in the 70s for other pursuits." She shook her head as if to get herself back on track. "It was called Project Lethe. They were trying to . . . alter memory. Pump a gas into a building convince a group of people they saw something they didn't. Slip it into someone's drink and invent a whole life for them to remember by the time lunch is done. The problem was they needed test subjects. So they earmarked a selection of SHIELD loyal agents that were considered threats to Hydra. And they started experimenting." Sharon paused, swallowing hard. "Peggy Carter was the top of that list."

Steve looked at the papers on the wall, then back at her. "They altered her memories?"

Sharon was shaking her head. "No. It didn't work, not the way they intended. It just made them confused or gave them blank spots in their memory, not the replacement they thought. It was written off as a failure after a few months of testing. Until one of the agents they'd tested on was killed in an unrelated mission and Hydra scientists got a hold of his autopsy." Her fingers sank into the dog's fur and it leaned against her side. "His brain showed signs of early onset dementia. He was my age. That's when they realized what the drug was actually doing." Sharon looked over at him and her eyes were bright. "They _gave_ it to her. She wasn't just old. She didn't just have age related dementia. Hydra agents poisoned her. For months. Because she threatened them just but existing."

Steve let it sink in, and then he felt sick. One of the first things he'd done after he woke up was to look up everyone he'd known, finding most of them dead—as he'd expected. Even those that were alive, the world thought he was dead, so it wasn't like he could contact them. That Peggy was one had tormented him. She'd had a life, a family, and he didn't want to interfere with that. To her he'd been dead a long time, and what had they been to each other really, in the scheme of her whole life? After the battle of New York, after he'd been publicly outed as, yes, that Steve Rogers, he'd gone to California to see Morita. He'd been very old but otherwise as he ever was. And very insistent Steve go see Peggy. 

When he'd walked in the nursing home, she'd been shocked to see him. She cried, he cried, and it wasn't until later he got to wondering why she hadn't known, why she hadn't seen him on the news. On the next visit, which contained the same surprise and tears, he understood. 

He'd kept visiting that nursing home, never knowing if she'd remember him, or if they'd have to have the same heartbreaking scene over and over again. It had killed him to see her like that, frail and disintegrating. Everything he loved about her fading away. He'd been angry enough at the cruelty of time, but learning that they'd _done_ that to her. . .

Abruptly he stood up, marching over to the window because he needed a minute to himself. 

He was grateful Sharon knew him well enough to give it to him. After letting the silence stretch a while she slowly stood and joined him at the window, hugging her self. "I thought I was done," she said quietly. "That I knew everything they took from me. My friends, my career, my purpose. I didn't think there was anything left, but-" Her mouth thinned out and she looked down. "I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking.

He turned, and he put his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. "I know," he told her. Because he did. Right now he felt exactly the same. Her arms came around him, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. She started to cry, awful wracking sobs she was obviously trying to fight and smother in his chest.

Taking care of her made him feel better, gave him something to focus on—though crying sounded like a great idea to him. He pressed his face in her hair and murmured, "I gotcha, I gotcha."

It seemed to make her cry harder and for a while all he could do was rock her, rubbing her back and whispering nonsense into her hair. When she had calmed she tried to step away and he wouldn't let her go far. She slumped against him, sniffling and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. She was yours and I - I shouldn't." She shook her head. "When I realized what I was looking at, what it meant, I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to tell you on the phone. I couldn't tell Hill or Wanda, they'd just make me hand it over. I thought about talking to Barnes but. . . Hydra and memory manipulation just seemed too close to home and I wasn't sure how he'd react. I just thought, if I could find the people responsible. Figure out who to blame. I needed someone to be angry at."

Anger felt productive. He should try and turn his head that way. "Did you find anyone?"

She nodded and this time when she tried to move away he let her. Crossing the couple steps to her desk, she picked up a piece of paper and leaned on the desk. "Several people. The scientists who developed it, the project lead. The one who decided to keep going. Some of them are dead. The rest are in the wind." She scrubbed a hand over her face. "I've spent the last day or so chasing leads, going over and over the files making sure I had every name I could." She glanced at the papers pinned up on the walls and sighed, holding the list out to him. "I got a little obsessed."

He studied them. "Do you want to go hunting?"

"Yes," she said, and he was a little surprised at the vehemence in her tone.

"All right," he said. "I'll talk to Hill, we'll get it on the docket."

Her surprise was visible. She stiffened, staring at him a moment. "I thought you'd try to talk me out of it."

"Well, I think we should try more turning them over to the authorities than a sniper shot from a distance, though Bucky would likely disagree."

She shoved her hands in her pockets and he wondered if she was now regretting not going Bucky in the first place. His suspicions were confirmed when she muttered, "I was thinking hemlock extract in their coffee."

"You're not an assassin," he said gently.

"I did wet work for the CIA," she said defensively. Then she deflated a little. "Though, admittedly, not to old men in retirement villages."

"I didn't know you did wet work." He paused. "And I'm with the Israelis in their Nazi hunting. You don't get a pass from past evil just because you're old."

"I did a lot of things for the CIA I'm not entirely proud of. There's a reason I came here when Hill called." She shrugged a little, looking uncomfortable. Then she pushed off the desk and started pulling papers off the wall. "I suppose rotting in jail will be something."

He sighed, and watched her for a bit. "Solves a mystery I've been wondering about for several years now." He looked down at her. "Never figured out how Hydra got past her. How apparently Howard noticed enough for them to kill him, and she didn't? Didn't make sense."

She nodded and dropped the pile of papers into one of the file boxes. "I'm not going to tell my family. They don't - this isn't their world, they won't want to know."

"I don't disagree." Something bumped his leg, and he looked down to see the dog sniffing his boot. "Hello, there."

Looking over, Sharon cracked a small smile. "That's Wolfie." The dog wagged his tail at the sound of her voice.

"We have a dog?" The 'we' had come out without thinking. He looked at her, not sure if he should take it back.

If she noticed, she didn't react. "Yeah. I went for a walk in the woods and found him. He had a rope tied around his neck and after I cut it off he just sort of followed me home. I swore it was temporary but. . ." She shrugged, then sighed. "This isn't how I pictured this." Stepping close, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, soft and tender. He could taste salt from her tears on her lips. 

"Welcome home," she murmured. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." He tipped her chin up. "How about we go home?"

She nodded. "Yes, please. I'll deal with this," She waved at the rest of the papers. "Later."

He laced his fingers into hers. "Come on."

With a whistle at the dog, they headed out, closing her office door firmly behind them. They drove back to her cabin in her SUV, Wolfie panting happily in the back. Walking inside the house unknotted something inside his chest. He couldn't remember the last time a place had felt like home.

Sharon fed the dog as he started a fire. Then she took his hand. "I wanted to show you something."

"Did you also get a cat?"

She laughed. "No. You can be on injured cat watch." She tugged his hand, leading him to the little hallway off the back of the living room and opened the door to her spare room. He remembered poking his head in there briefly the first time he was here, looking for storm supplies. It had been a hodge podge of moving boxes and unneeded furniture. 

It had now been cleared out and cleaned. A couple of end tables were pushed against one wall, holding up an elaborate printer and camera equipment.

"I started taking pictures again," Sharon said softly. He glanced down to find her hugging one arm around herself, looking oddly shy and uncertain. "I thought this might make a nice art studio. Camera stuff for me there and whatever you need for drawing by the window."

It was impossible to deny how much they'd integrated their lives. 'We' certainly had been the right word. He touched her back. "It's perfect."

She smiled and he felt tension ease out of her. "For a long time I didn't like thinking about my future. I didn't want to plan anything because so much had gone wrong. But now when I think about my future. . . you're in it. And I like planning for that."

"I live here," he said. Admitting it out loud. "I should get rid of my apartment. This is home." 

"Yes." Her voice was soft, reverent, as if they'd come to some momentous decision. And, really, hadn't they?

Sharon tucked herself into his side, nuzzling his shoulder. "Welcome home."

He kissed her hair. "You know what I think we should do now?"

"What's that?"

"Christen our studio."

She laughed and tilted her head back to look at him. "You don't even want to wait for furniture?"

"Since when have we ever needed furniture?"

"That's true," she said thoughtfully, reaching back to close the door, presumably to keep the dog out. "We'd just break it, anyway."

*

The next day felt like a roller coaster to Sharon. Waking up with Steve and falling back into their morning routine (now with added dog) was heavenly. It soothed a lot of the rough edges and ruffled feathers left from her revelation about Hydra. Going into work and sharing her findings with Hill dug all that up again, though. Especially when Hill tried to talk to her about bringing the Hydra agents in and Sharon felt compelled to admit that if non-lethal force was being used she was not the one to send. She didn't look at Steve when she said it, but she hoped he understood. She spent the afternoon taking down the last of the research from her office walls and handing it over to Hill. 

Intellectually, she knew Steve was right. She wasn't an assassin. She was angry enough she thought she probably could kill them all if given the opportunity. But it was something that would haunt her, possibly forever. Maybe there were some things she just needed to let go.

She heard footsteps in her doorway, and looked up to see Bucky standing there. "Steve told me."

His tone was grim, so she assumed he was talking about Peggy and not her and Steve moving in together. She let the papers she was holding drop into the box and firmly closed the lid. "Hill's getting a team together to bring in the people who are still alive."

"That's bullshit."

That made her smile. "I agree, but I was out voted." She glanced at him. "Should have had you in the meeting."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Do you have a list?"

She paused, then nodded. She'd given a copy to Hill, but still had a hand written one in her notes. "You can't go off reservation." There wasn't a lot of weight to the words, but she felt compelled to try.

"I've killed better men for worse reasons."

That was certainly true. "I want them dead," she admitted. "I think a bullet to the head they never see coming is too good for them. If it was up to me I'd be slipping poison in their food and bubbles into their IVs. I'd introduce myself to them so they knew _exactly_ why they were suffering in their final moments. She was like a grandmother to me and I watched every minute of her decline from a front row seat." She took a deep breath. "But she called Steve the love of her life. I don't think my claim is greater than his. And he wants this done this way. And I -" _Love him._ "I respect him enough to do it his way."

Bucky sighed. "He's a good guy. Better than me. Always has been."

"He's a better person than most of us," she said. Then added with a crooked smile. "Aggravating, isn't it?"

He was quiet a moment, the he said. "He's not indestructible. Even if he thinks he is."

Oh, so this was going to be that conversation now. "I know. He's let me see it. We take care of each other."

"You make him happy."

She was surprised at the tears the pricked her eyes at that. Her emotions were still raw. "He makes me happy," she said quietly. "He's moving in with me."

"He told me that part, too. Told me not to make a big deal about it. Not to come here and interrogate you about your intentions."

"And yet, here you are."

"If I was interrogating you, you'd know it."

Her mouth quirked a little. "We should make an effort to get along." She tried to keep any sort of challenge out of her voice. "I intend to be a part of his life a very long time."

"I know," he said. "I don't offer to carry out hits for just anyone."

Now she smiled fully. "I really do appreciate the offer. Honestly."

He nodded. "Good. Welcome to the family."

"Thanks." She held a hand out to shake and was surprised when he wrapped her in a tight hug, pressing the air out of her lungs. She squeezed him back, resting her head on his shoulder a moment. He was very sturdy.

He set her down, gave her a firm nod and a crooked smile, and let himself out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's late. I'm sorry. Please be distracted by the copious amounts of domestic fluff.

After finishing the last of her clean up, she went to find Steve. She hovered outside his office while he finished a discussion with Sam. The other man gave her a grin and thumbs up on his way out of the office and she couldn't help but laugh a little as she went in. "Bucky came by to give me his seal of approval."

Steve rubbed his face. "I told him not to bother you."

"You told him not to interrogate me. He was very civil. There was hugging." She gave his desk a fond little pat as she came closer. "Unfortunately, my two closest friends here are Wanda and Hill. I'm not sure either of them would be able to threaten you properly."

"Oh, Wanda cornered me weeks ago and told me while she understood I was her boss, if I broke your heart she would turn my brain into jello. I believed her."

"That's my girl." He rolled away from his desk when she reached him. Sharon wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his. It was amazing how much he soothed her, just by his presence. "I left the Hydra files in Hill's office. I leave it to your discretion what updates you give me."

"Hill has been speaking with some people getting it hashed out whether this is a US thing or an Interpol thing, since they're running the primary Hydra clean up task force." He rubbed her arm. "I can tell you that one of the names has already popped as an alias for man named Oleg Netrebov, who they apparently brought in to consult because of his previous experience with a different memory wiping process. The machine they used to wipe Bucky." 

Sharon closed her eyes and pressed her face into his hair a moment. "I flagged references to 'the Asset.' Most of them were pretty vague but I figured there was a connection." Then, despite the fact she'd all but decided not to mention it, she added, "He offered to go hunting for me."

"I'm not surprised. He already killed Netrebov. He was Hydra hunting when I found him three years ago."

She couldn't help the hard little smile at that news. "Maybe I'll give him another hug next time I see him."

"You doing okay?" he asked her.

It probably wasn't the answer he wanted, but she couldn't help but tell him the truth. "I'm still angry. I know doing it this way is probably the right thing, but it doesn't feel like enough. It's stirring up a lot of. . . dark things. I'm trying to just let it go. Tell myself it's someone else's problem and out of my hands." She gave him a little squeeze. "How are you?"

"Part of me wishes we'd taken the list and leave of absence."

Knowing she wasn't alone in her blood thirstiness actually helped a bit. She kissed his temple. "Between you, me, and Bucky we could kick some serious ass."

"Sam has a theory that a sniper assassination is actually too kind. These people deserve to have their lives ruined. To be dragged out into the open and be put on trial. So that everyone who thought they were decent people knows the truth."

"I suppose esoteric revenge is better than no revenge at all. And I agree about the bullet." She could almost feel depression and darkness tugging at her and rubbed his back, determined not to let it win. "Do you want to move some of your stuff this evening? I cleared out the back of my car."

He was quiet for a moment. "I don't have much stuff. Pretty much everything is already at your house."

Her arms tightened on him again. "Do you want to go shopping this weekend for furniture and knick knacks?"

"Yes," he said, he said, determination in his voice. She knew suddenly this trip was going to be planned like a military operation. "I need a drafting table and an easel. We need more shelving." He paused, then added. "And a king sized bed."

"We should figure out if we want to do anything with the loft, other than storage," she said. "And maybe start looking for new appliances? I feel like my washer and dryer aren't long for the world."

"That sounds like a plan."

Steve did, indeed, plan their shopping like it was a invasion into foreign territory. And, from a certain point of view, maybe it was. He woke her early, as early as if they were going to work, with breakfast already ready, a cup of coffee waiting. He let her get halfway through it before handing her their itinerary, which he had typed and printed. It included three large furniture stores, Sears, an art store, and a couple of small antique stores, which made her happy. "I'm gonna need more than half an hour at an antique store," she informed him, setting the list down to butter her toast.

"There are three of them," he replied.

"And if they have old camera stuff, interesting boxes, or vintage advertisements I'm going to need more than half an hour."

He made a hmphing noise, took the paper back, and made some notes on it. "We can get something from a drive through for lunch."

She hid her smirk in eating her toast, and obediently hurried up when he gave her another look. Twenty minutes later they were in her car heading for the first furniture store, arriving just after opening.

Steve had particular outfits he would wear when they went shopping or to brunch, so that he wouldn't be recognized and could have some peace. He'd gotten pretty good at it, particularly once he acquired the assistance of a professional spy. They all featured some sort of eyeglasses, and baggy shirts that made him look kind of chubby. Today's look, which she'd fondly named Long John Silver, featured a cable knit fisherman's sweater that made him look like he last worked out in high school, and jeans straight from the 1997 LL Bean catalog. Dorky glasses and a little scruff and nobody would think this was Captain America.

When the first furniture salesman gave them a look that clearly inquired, "How did you get a girl that hot?" Sharon knew she had done good work.

They found a bed frame they liked, sturdy wood, well made, with cut out carvings on the head and foot boards. Steve leaned down and murmured, "Hand holds" as they inspected it and that pretty much sold it for her. Their opinions on bed firmness were too far apart to compromise on, so after finding a bookcase that would look good in the living room, Steve went off to revise their itinerary while she arranged delivery.

"So, you guys are. . . together?"

She was glad she was looking down at the delivery forms so the salesman didn't see her eye roll. "Well, we're moving in together. So. . . yeah."

"Huh," he said. 

She thought that would be it. But after they'd finished the paperwork he held out his card. "My personal number is on the back," he said, with what he probably thought was a charming smile. "You know, if you change your mind about anything." This with a pointed look in Steve's direction.

The mature, adult thing was to let it go. She got hit on, it happened. She could make a point not to come to this store again. But the dismissive look he'd given Steve raised her hackles. So she slipped into the ditzy blonde persona she used so often on missions and smiled. "Oh, gosh, that's really sweet of you. I mean, things have been a little shaky recently. Last night? He only got me off five times when we fucked." The salesguy's eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Sharon dropped the act. "I will be sure to call your manager and tell him how very helpful you were-" She glanced at the card. "Clay."

She turned on her heel and joined Steve at the door, leaving the guy still speechless at the counter. "Hey," he said, reaching for her hand. "The sales guy is giving me a really weird look."

"He tried to hit on me," she explained. "I assured him he was not man enough to take your place."

"I kind of want to rip the sweater off and march back in there in my under shirt and ask him if he wants to go."

"As _extremely hot_ as I would find that, I don't think there's room in the itinerary for defending your honor." She bumped him with her hip. "I have his card. I'll call his manager and complain later."

"I've added a stop at a store that sells only mattresses."

"That sounds both entertaining and torturous," she said as they climbed back into the SUV.

"We probably should try to keep our hands to ourselves while laying on the display models."

"Well, we are both fans of anticipation." She glanced over at him. "On a completely non-sexy note, how are we going to do the joint finances thing?" 

"Split down the middle? Alternate months?"

"Split down the middle seems less work." She had never shared a place with a lover before. Her roommate experiences had been during school and SHIELD academy and had been on student budgets. "Do you want to start a joint checking account? For utilities and such?"

"We could do that. It does increase the odds that we'll be outed."

He worried a lot about them getting found out, she knew. Not that she blamed him. They were isolated enough up here - and the campus security beefy enough - that he didn't get hassled much. If word got out that he was seeing someone it would likely be enough for the tabloids to make the trek upstate. Especially when it came out she was Peggy's niece and that wasn't even getting into her family. Once banks and such got involved it might be inevitable. "My mortgage payments are automatically deducted from a dedicated account. If you can figure out a way to dump a lump sum in there to cover your share a few months at a time we can probably figure out the rest by alternating payments or trading groceries for the water bill."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know that makes it extra complicated."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "It's all right. I'm a spy. If it wasn't a little complicated I wouldn't trust it."

He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. "Lets go find ourselves a bed."

The mattress store was an adventure. Steve liked a bed firm enough to iron a shirt on, whereas Sharon had a deep and abiding love of sleeping on a cloud. The salesman - a polite guy in his early forties with greying hair that didn't seem to care about their apparent attractiveness discrepancy - introduced them to a Tempurpedic that had adjustable firmness settings. She and Steve tried it out, laying next to each other and poking buttons until his was at the firmest and Sharon had sunk in properly. 

"This model also has the option of adjustable head and feet," the salesman said, handing her a brochure before excusing himself to help someone else.

Steve leaned over her shoulder and read. "Great for snoring or apnea, or those with trouble getting out of bed."

"You are a senior citizen," she murmured. She flipped to a page that showed a series of pictures of the bed in various configurations. She turned to look at him and whispered, "Think of the positions we could get into."

His face went blank and expressionless. He did that sometimes when she'd turn him on in an inappropriate place. "We should get one."

"I agree. I think he mentioned something about same day delivery, too."

"The rest of the bed won't be until Tuesday."

"It comes with a metal frame," she said, rolling off the bed. "Long term we'd probably break it but I bet it'll last a few days."

"I wish I could take you home right now."

"Anticipation," she reminded him, with a wink over her shoulder.

"I'm going to go purchase this bed now."

She grinned at him and leaned over to pluck the sheet of paper out of his back pocket. "I'll update the itinerary."

They set the deliver for seven that evening, and hit another furniture store for more shelving. The art store was down the street from that one, so it was a quick walk to get his easel and drafting table, both of which went in the back of the SUV. They were officially ahead of schedule when they reached Sears, where Steve was immediately enamored by the number of buttons and settings available on washing machines.

"It says you can download specialty cycles for unique needs," he said, hovering over one with a four-figure price tag and a sign proclaiming it had Wi-fi capability. "I wonder if there's one for body armor."

She was a few machines down, at a perfectly reasonably priced top loader that would almost certainly meet all their needs but did not, in fact, have wi-fi capabilities. "I don't know that there's much of a superhero appliances market, baby."

"It holds two months of detergent and self dispenses," he replied.

Okay, that was kind of cool. "I should have seen this coming. You love complicated things with lots of dials and buttons."

"When I was a kid, my mother washed out clothes by hand with a washboard. She had a hand crank wringer and a clothesline on the fire escape."

She crossed her arms. "There are options between that and a washing machine just shy of Star Trek."

He grinned at her. "No, that was an attempt to make you feel sorry for me due to my sad, disadvantaged childhood. I would then transform that sympathy into a really expensive washing machine."

"In that case, it should have been about _you_ doing laundry on a washboard and hand ringer, not your saint of a mother who raised a son alone in the Depression and would box your ears for wasting money this way."

He tilted his head. "Well played, Carter, well played."

She grinned and patted the machine she was looking at. "So this one, then?"

"I suppose so. We did just buy a six thousand dollar bed."

Stepping close, she wrapped her arms around his waist. "They say good relationships are based on communication and compromise."

He kissed her. "Can we at least get one of those dryers that steams out wrinkles?"

"That sounds like an excellent feature that we cannot live without."

They were running early enough to eat lunch in a restaurant after that. They played footsie under the table. Part of her wanted to drag him home, have one last hurrah in her old bed. But he had promised her extra time at the antique stores and there really was something to be said for anticipation.

The first shop they went to was over priced and touristy. The second was closed. The third was out of downtown, on the way back to the boonies where she lived. It was an old building, overstuffed with furniture and display cases and had the pleasant-but-musty smell Sharon associated with a proper antique store. She wandered through, looking around like a child who'd been allowed into Santa's workshop. She heard Steve sigh in resignation as she made her way to the back of the store.

She spent some time inspecting a table full of old music boxes, then an old pocket watch that still ticked when she wound it. It was heavy and solid in her palm and despite the fact she had no use for it, it was a struggle to put it down and walk away. In the back corner she found an old accordion style camera from the turn of the century. The wood was worn and the accordion had cracks, but for her it only added to the character.

"It suits you," Steve said from behind her.

"I don't think it can be restored," she admitted. "But it's still beautiful." She felt the heat of him at her back and leaned into it, smiling when his arms came around her waist. "It'll look nice on our new shelves."

He tucked his chin into the crook of her neck. "This would be the tchochkes part of the shopping trip?"

"Yes, yes it would." She turned the camera over in her hands. "You don't have a lot of things. I don't have a lot of things. We've both been living. . . temporary lives. Ready to pick up and move at a moment's notice. I was to stop living that way. Put down roots. Make the space our own."

Some hard to name emotion shifted in his eyes. "I'd like that."

There was a place in her chest that sometimes ached when she thought of the future, that seemed to warm when she pictured it with him. It was where she pictured the light Wanda spoke of living. Right now it felt like it might split open she was so happy and full. She went on tiptoe and kissed him, probably a little too intimately for public. "Let me buy this," she said softly. "Then let's go home."

He held out his hand. "I'll buy it. I'm getting something else, anyway."

She handed the camera over without argument. "What are you getting?"

He grinned. "A vintage Captain America poster. It's for my office."

She laughed, taking his hand as they made their way up to the front. "That? Is awesome."

"I promise to buy some tchotchkes of my own for home eventually, too."

"It's all right. It has to be a process. Hunting things down, finding the right pieces."

"So more shopping in this silly getup?"

"You can rotate your silly getups," she said, tugging his sweater lightly. "I like this one, though."

"I'm not wearing it to bed."

She slid her hand under the sweater and scratched his back through his undershirt. "It's all right. I have a good imagination."

He made a little humming noise. "Some guy did hit on me over by the grandfather clocks. I was weirdly proud of that."

Sharon was kind of surprised to find _she_ was proud of that. Her boyfriend was damn hot. "I bet you're more likely to get hit on like this. At least in a non-bar or club setting. You're kind of intimidatingly attractive. Even without the superhero thing."

"I'll remember that if you abandon me."

It was said lightly, teasing, so she grinned up at him. "Not a chance. They can fight me."

"That might be hot."


	18. Chapter 18

When they got home, Steve hauled everything inside, including his easel, drafting table, shelves for the walls as well as a couple free standing units—one with doors to keep the dust off. The mattress and base was coming that evening. The rest of the bed, washer, dryer and new fridge would be delivered during the week. He'd even managed to drag her into a computer store and she'd splurged on a brand new photo printer.

He got to work assembling the easel and draft table, eager to get the studio set up. Sharon took the dog for a run in the woods to make up for his day alone, coming back in time to start dinner and get her new printer up and running. He had the draft table built and dialed in to his specifications by the time she was doing test prints of a couple pictures she'd done the day she found Wolfie.

"Maybe we should pick an art wall," she said, inspecting the picture of a bird in flight she'd just finished. "Put up a big collage of both of our stuff. Switch stuff out when we get bored with it or have something new to add."

"I like that," he said. It felt homey.

They ate dinner huddled over her lap top, picking pictures to go on the wall. Most of them he'd never seen, taken long before they met. There were cities and landscapes from all over the world. Paris covered in snow, San Francisco shrouded in fog tinted pink by dawn. The forests of Bavaria and the sprawling Afghan desert. 

"You are really talented," he said softly.

She blushed, leaning on his arm. "Thank you. It felt good to pick it up again." Bumping his shoulder a little, she added, "I'd like to see more of your stuff."

He watched her for a moment, then nodded and got up. He went into the studio, where he'd placed one of the few boxes he had brought over from his apartment. He carefully took out the very old, leather bound notebook, and brought it out to the living room. "Lately I've been drawing mostly you," he told her. "This is from the war."

Putting her plate down, she took it like he was handing her something fragile and precious. Setting it on her lap, she opened it and started to carefully page through. She made a little noise at the first few sketches of Peggy. "She really was beautiful, wasn't she?" she said, tilted her head to study a particularly detailed portrait.

He sighed a little. "That she was. I swear I did draw other things," he said, reaching out to turn the page for her, revealing a sketch of the Howling Commandos drinking in a pub.

She grinned, studying that one, then flipped to another, of just Jones and Dernier, laughing. Morita with the radio. Bucky cleaning his rifle, which was almost as detailed at the one of Peggy.

Sharon tilted her head at that, too and he felt a quick flash of embarrassment. "You know," she said thoughtfully. "I'm starting to wonder if, for this to work out, I need to dye my hair brown and up my eye make-up game. _Clearly_ you have a type."

He choked on a laugh. Then he let it out and laughed fully. It felt good. "God," he said finally. "No, I think it's more a sharp wit and an ability to kick my ass." He nudged her. "And a good dose of protective instincts."

"Ah." She smiled. "Well. That I have in spades." She leaned in to kiss him and the doorbell rang. Sharon hummed a little, part frustration, part anticipation, as she lifted her head. "Mattress."

"Indeed," he said with a grin. "Go strip the old bed, I'll get the door."

She pecked his cheek, then hopped up to obey. The delivery guys were quick and efficient, probably looking forward to the end of a long day. They hauled out the old mattress and bed frame without complaint and had the new one set up almost as fast. Steve slipped them each a tip, adding ten percent for either not recognizing him or not caring and sent them on their way.

When he cleaned up the dinner plates and returned to the bedroom he found Sharon putting on the new sheets she'd bought in their shopping adventures. 

He reached out to take one end from her so they could tuck it under the corners. Sometimes he really enjoyed tiny domestic moments. He'd never told her, but sometimes the two of them quietly making the bed together was one of his favorite parts of the morning.

They tossed her old duvet on, as well as a second heavy quilt so that the whole bed was covered. Sharon was apparently particular about duvet weight and had ordered a new one that hadn't arrived yet. She had a surplus of blankets and such, so there was no risk of them getting cold in the mean time.

Sharon flopped on her side and began poking buttons to get it to her preferred softness. He grinned at her. "Making your marshmallow?"

"Yep," she said brightly. She fiddled a little more, then stretched and rolled onto her side. "Mmm. Perfect. Going to come make your brick?" she asked, patting his side of the bed.

He sat on his side and began pressing buttons. The foot of the bed raised. "I want to play with this feature."

She watched him, rolling onto her back again as her feet went up. "I recall it being a selling point."

He winked at her. "You seemed to think we could make some fun out of it."

"Well, I think we can make some fun out of a cardboard box, but a moving bed certainly has potential. For example-" She sat up, grabbed her pillow and shifted, leaning forward so she was draped on the raised part. The head came up straight, but the foot curved under the knee, giving her a nice angle to rest on. "This is quite comfortable," she told him over her shoulder. "And so much sturdier than a pile of pillows."

He pressed the button and raised it a little higher, reaching up to stroke the curve of her rear. It was a tempting sight. "There."

She wiggled her ass at him playfully, gathering her pillow up to rest her head on it. He liked when she was playful and teased him. It was a sign of comfort. Of intimacy. "You could fuck me all night like this," she murmured, watching him through dark eyes.

The dirty talk was very nice, too.

He slipped his hand under her shirt to touch her skin. "That sounded like an invitation."

Her skin was soft and warm, so familiar under his fingers. She lifted up into his touch. "That. Or a challenge."

"Take you clothes off," he told her, putting he little sternness into his voice.

The reaction to that particular tone was subtle but immediate. Sharon's eyes darkened further and her body seemed to soften under his hand. Slowly she straightened up, tugging her shirt up and off.

He'd begun to suspect that part of her enjoyment of their games - the begging, him pinning her - was getting ordered around. Him being in total control of her actions, her pleasure. Even to the point of denying it.

She kicked her slippers off and had to get off the bed to slip out of her jeans and underwear. When she was naked she stood beside the bed and watched him, as if waiting for orders.

He was never going to get tired of looking at her. He climbed off the bed and stripped his own clothes, then made a gesture at the foot of the bed. "As you were."

Her mouth quirked a little and she climbed back on the bed, resettling with her chest against the curve of the raised bed. It really did put her in the perfect position, spine a graceful arch, ass lifted. She squirmed a little, getting comfortable, then relaxed into the bed. He climbed up beside her, sliding his his hand up the inside of her thigh a cupping her sex. "You are so gorgeous."

His words or the touch sent a little shiver through her. She turned her head to watch him. "So are you."

He leaned over her, kissing the small of her back, and slowly up her spine. He stroked one finger against her lazily. She was already wet. "Even in my ugly sweater?"

"Yes," she whispered, lids fluttering. "Even then."

He kissed between her shoulder blades, pressing her clit between his fingers. "Sometimes," he murmured, "I like you like this the best."

She shuddered and he felt her sex twitch against his hand. "Naked?" she managed to get out.

"And at my mercy," he added, because he knew she'd like it. He was pleased at the small moan that earned him. "You're mine."

"Yes," she whispered. He felt a new rush of moisture against his hand as she ground against him. "I'm only yours."

She was perfect. That was the only word for it. He let his hand wander over her, pausing to cup one breast. "I don't want it slow. Not tonight."

"Yes." It was her soft, pleading tone, the one that hit all his buttons. She pushed her ass back, as if searching for his cock. "Please fuck me. Hard and fast as you want. Show me I'm yours."

That was really all he needed. He knelt behind her and held her by the hips so he could push into her slick heat. She seemed to clutch at him, pulling him deeper. Perfect, it was perfect. Her moan was sharp and breathy and she pushed back against him. She did love this position, her reactions were always so intense.

He started to thrust, hard and fast, just as he'd promised. The bed had enough give he trusted he wasn't hurting her, but enough resistance she stayed right where he wanted her. She clutched at her pillow, gasping, before starting to thrust back into him. "Harder," she pleaded. "Fuck, Steve, harder. Make me feel it."

He bent his head to kiss the back of her neck, nipping her skin as he rocked both of them. He could put his weight into it, and snaked a hand beneath her so he couch touch her again. She writhed when he did, nearly bucking him off. He straightened a little for a better angle, and grabbed ahold of her hair with his free hand.

The new angle had him bottoming out, going as deep as possible. The sound she made was damn close to a scream, but she shifted her knees to brace herself better, so she could take all of him. Almost immediately he could feel her growing slicker, muscles clenching on him.

Sure enough a moment later, she reached back to grab his thigh, nails sinking in. "Steve," she gasped, sounding desperate. "I'm close. I'm going to- please, please can I?"

If he'd had any inclinations to torment her, they were lost with the bite of her nails into his skin. He was barely holding on. But it was so damn hot that she still asked. "Fuck," he gasped. "Yes."

The words were barely out of his mouth and she was arching, muscles grown taut against him. She closed around him like a fist, sex throbbing around his cock, clit pulsing on his fingers. The sounds she made were surprisingly soft and desperate and so, so sexy. Her hips rocked in jerky little motions, riding out her pleasure, drawing it out. He thrust hard into her, chasing his own climax. She sagged against the bed and he collapsed onto her as it ripped through him.

He could still feel little flutters of her around him as they panted for air. He flexed his fingers against her experimentally and she shuddered, so he repeated the motions. This was one of his favorite things to do. If he could catch the timing just right, he could coax a small, second orgasm out of her, right on the heels of the first. It didn't take but a moment, and she was whimpering like she couldn't decide if should stop immediately or never. If it was too much or not enough. But he _knew_ her. He knew what she wanted.

She shook her head and whimpered, "Please," at the same time. And then her hips were rocking helplessly as she rode out the new waves of pleasure. The tightening of her around his softening cock was pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. 

All the tension drained from her, and he pulled her tight against his body and tangled their legs together. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and keep her safe.

He didn't know how to tell her, but he loved her so very much. What he said instead was, "You keep me warm."

She stroked a hand along his arm and nuzzled her head under his chin, so there was no part of her that wasn't touching him. "And you are my light," she replied softly.

They were backwards on the bed and it wasn't even 8:30. He didn't care. He fumbled for the button to lower it, pulled the blankets around them and tucked them in. "I approve of this bed."

Her voice was sleepy and utterly content when she answered. "Best six grand we ever spent."

*

Sunday was spent selecting and assembling their art wall and experimenting with all the many bed configurations. Monday dawned bright and warm, or at least, not snowy and cold. Steve looked like a little kid on the first day of summer, such was his hatred of the cold. Sharon was quite happy to take advantage of the good mood, and the quickie in the shower.

Her training duties had been diminished, with the mentorship program firmly in place. Wanda was her main victim now and she sent her a note telling her to dress for a jog outside for their work out that day. 

Wanda waiting for her, in a t-shirt Sharon knew she'd probably regret up until they got moving. But she was grinning—beaming really. "Well. Hello."

Sharon smiled. "I imagine to an empath I'm a bit like heroin today, aren't I?"

"Your little light has grown into the noon-day sun," Wanda replied.

That made her cheeks heat, flushing with pleasure. "Steve moved in," she admitted. "Officially."

"Congratulations. I'm really happy for you."

"Thank you." She bent her leg, pulling her foot to stretch her quad, arching a brow at Wanda until she followed suit. "I feel like. . . like I've been standing in a dark room desperately looking for a way out. And now a door has opened and I can finally explore the rest of the house."

"I know what you mean. About the dark room."

Sharon switched legs, giving her a sympathetic look. "How are you doing?"

Wanda's smile was still sad, but it was a smile. "Good days outnumber the bad ones lately."

Impulsively, Sharon reached out to hug her. "You ever want to go out and do something. Catch a movie, get some drinks, whatever. I'm there."

"You know I. . . I actually would like that. I've been longing for a pedicure."

That sounded heavenly. "I could absolutely go for a pampering day. I'm sure there's a nice spa in town." She released Wanda and they started their jog. "Do you want to keep it just us? Or invite Hill and Doc?"

"Hill sent an email about getting together. I couldn't tell if it was a meeting or not. They sounded vaguely like orders."

"Yeah. That's Hill. I think she wants to do girly things but doesn't know how to turn off the CO part of her brain."

"We should invite them. Assuming they know about your situation, because I have a lot of non-work questions I'm dying to ask you."

An afternoon of pampering and bragging about Steve sounded awesome. "They know. Hill figured it out around the same time you did and Steve told Bucky a while ago. I'm sure he told Doc."

"I've never really had girlfriends, you know."

"It's been a long time for me," Sharon admitted. "Not the kind I'd go out for drinks or manicures with. But we're kind of isolated up here and in a very specific field. It makes sense to stick together."

"I look forward to it. I want to hear all about this bed of yours."

"All right, but you're probably going to get some mental images you might not like."

"I have seen Captain Rogers in enough spandex workout shirts to think I might enjoy them."

Sharon laughed out loud. "Fair enough."

They did a long circuit of the grounds and by the end Wanda was wobbling a bit on her feet. Sharon sent her home to take a hot bath and some Motrin, then sent out an email to the ladies suggesting a spa day. She made sure it was clearly a social invitation and not a mission briefing. 

By the time she was heading out to the lobby to meet Steve to drive home she swore she felt ten years younger.

"You look like you had a good day," he said, greeting her with a kiss right there in the middle of the lobby.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed with him. "I did. The girls and I are going to try to go do girly things this weekend."

"Do I want to know what that means?"

"Manicures, pedicures. Maybe some massages and facials. Drinks with umbrellas."

"So you'll come home drunk, relaxed, and smelling nice? I can get behind that."

"I didn't think you'd mind."

"I'll stay home with the dog and do man things."

"I think imagining those man things will entertain me during my girly things."

Saturday, she drove up to the compound to pick up Wanda, who still lived in the supposed temporary housing. They met the other two at the spa Sharon had found. It catered to the summer tourist crowd and was therefore rather empty and reasonably priced on a chilly March Saturday. They met the other women in the lobby and were escorted to a private waiting room with a sauna and hot tub, to relax a bit before their various pamperings. A pretty girl in a white uniform brought them fruity drinks.

It was, by far, the most fun she'd spent with a group of women since high school. Hill was bawdy and funny. Amanda had a surprisingly dry, sarcastic streak and was not shy about her sex life, or anyone else’s. Wanda alternated between blushing and fascination. And all of them wanted to know as much as she was willing to tell about Steve.

He was private, so she didn't want to over-share—but there was a lot to brag about, and she figured he wouldn't begrudge her that. It was enough to sate their curiosity, at any rate, though she was a little worried he'd be getting some odd looks from Hill and Doc at work.

She got home just before dark, skin soft and sweetly scented, with blood red polish on her nails and toes. She had to stay sober enough to drive, but the rum in the drinks and the warmth of the hot tub had her feeling happy and drowsy.

Steve was in the kitchen making dinner. He had a pot on every burner and was feeding scraps of something or other to Wolfie, sitting adoringly at his feet. He was wearing the silly apron her sister-in-law had sent her as a housewarming gift. It was pink and said "Kiss the cook" on it.

It seemed like good advice, so she wrapped her arms around him from behind, kissing the back of his neck. "Honey, I'm home."

He turned. "Mm, you do smell good."

"Thank you. I'm also very relaxed. Not drunk, but you could probably take advantage of me." She slid a hand down to cup his ass. "We talked about sex. A lot. I know things now."

"I kind of want to know, and i kind of don't."

"Considering half of it is about your best friend, I can see it going either way." She worked a hand under his shirt so she could touch his skin. "Amanda has no complaints. And what they lack in our flexibility they make up for in endurance."

He nibbled on her neck. "Fascinating."

Maybe she was drunker than she thought, because that sent heat pooling between her legs. It could have just been him, though. "I bragged about you," she told him, running her freshly painted nails along his spine. "How hot you are. How strong."

He groaned. "Come on now. Keep it in your pants until after dinner."

She pouted a little. "What are you making?"

"Ah. . .Trout, vegetable risotto, and a chocolate pudding pie. Sam and Bucky went fishing."

Untangling her hand from his shirt, she kissed him again. "You had me at risotto. I am, however, going to change into something more comfortable. And I mean that literally, not in the sexy movie way."

"Hey, I find your gym clothes sexy."

"That's just Pavlov at work." She headed for the bedroom. "When I get back I'll let you put me to work."

"Did you mean that to sound dirty?" he called after her.

"What do you think?" She closed the door behind her before he could answer. For a brief moment she toyed with putting on something lacy and sexy under the comfortable clothes. Steve did like surprises. But she really did just want something soft and loose fitting and with the benefit of easy access. So she slid into her favorite flannels and one of his sleeveless undershirts. Her hair went up in a messy bun before she went out to help him with dinner.

They had just gotten food on the table and the pie in the oven when Steve's phone rang. Whomever was on the other side couldn't have said much before he got up and walked to the TV, turning it on and finding the news. They were treated to footage of rubble and wreckage and newscasters talking about a massive earthquake in China.

Sharon felt the last of her buzz die at the sight. Steve was listening to the caller - probably Hill - and it sounded like it was an all hands on deck situation. So she wolfed down a few bites of her food and went back to the bedroom to change into tac gear. When she came back out, Steve was in half his uniform, putting dinner in tupperware. "You smelled really good," he muttered.

"I know." This was absolutely not how the night was supposed to go. She dumped some extra food and water into Wolfie's bowls and made a mental note to have Hill have someone to come walk him. Steve went to finish getting dressed and retrieve his shield out of the back of the closet and she met him at the front door.

He had the dinner tupperware tucked under his arm. "We can eat on the plane. I slaved over this risotto."

"I will fight anyone that tries to steal it," she promised, holding the door for him.

They pulled into the compound at the same time as Amanda and Bucky. He looked even more homicidal than usual and she was decidedly flushed and rumpled looking. Apparently, someone had not waited till after dinner to keep it in their pants. Before they got out of the car, Steve reached over to take her hand. "There's nobody I'd rather save the world with."

Something like relief flooded her and she smiled. She'd been half expecting a fight about her coming along. She leaned over and kissed him. "Back at you."

He let go and took a deep breath, and she could almost see Steve recede and Cap take over. Something about the way he held his shoulders. "Let's get to it, then."

Seriously, there had to be a way to get him to talk like that in bed.

They got their debrief on the jet, passing the tupperware back and forth while Bucky and Sam teased them. This was a humanitarian mission. Amanda and Sam would be helping with triage and medical aid while the rest of them would be dealing with search and rescue, digging survivors out of the rubble. Wanda would be using her telepathy and kinesis powers, hunting people the dogs and equipment couldn't find.

"I kind of like the ones where we don't shoot anyone," Vision commented. "Even if I am probably going to spend several hours serving as some sort of support structure."

Amanda patted his arm. "That's what you get for being made of Vibranium."

"Rhodey could probably also serve as a human post," Sam offered.

"I will barrel roll this plane," he called from the cockpit. "Don't fuck with me."

"Hey," Steve called. "I just ate."

"And you didn't bring enough to share with the class," Bucky said. "You deserve what you get."

Steve chuckled with the rest of them and Sharon met his gaze across the plane where she was giving Wanda silent moral support. He smiled at her, for a moment all Steve and no Cap and she couldn't help but grin back. It wasn't how she'd hoped to spend her night, but it certainly had its merits.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter for your holiday weekend. Happy gross consumerism day everyone.

Search and rescue was, admittedly, low violence. But it could be a grueling, endless, sometimes frustrating and depressing grind. They'd been at it for hours, spread out across the city, focusing where their skills could do the most good. The comm chatter was pretty constant which helped morale. But everyone was starting to sound tired and the banter was slowing down.

Wanda's voice came over the comm. "Guys, I need some help. Some people trapped deep in the rubble."

"Be right there," Steve replied.

Sharon spoke as he started towards her. "Me, too. I'm just around the block from you."

As he jogged, he tried to ignore the little flicker of pleasure he felt at getting a chance to see her. He knew this was a serious situation and seeing his girlfriend should not be a priority. But it had been hours since he'd caught even a glimpse of her. He could use a hug and a deep breath of her scent. Just to keep going.

He really had no idea why he'd once thought being alone was the way he wanted to live his life.

When Steve got there, Wanda was hovering up near the top of the rubble pile that had once been an apartment building. "I can't see a way in."

There might not be one. Steve didn't even have to say it, just think it, and Wanda flew back down, landing in front him with a blast of air and power that made him step back. She stared him down. "There are children."

He nodded, understanding. "Rhodey, Vision, head over to our location as soon as you can. We need some heavy lifting."

Sharon came around the corner and stopped next to him. He probably shouldn't hug her. He was on duty. But he really wanted to. As if she had some mind reading talents of her own, she reached out and stroked her fingers along the back of his, before going to join Wanda closer to the wreckage. The women walked around the structure while he waited for the heavy lifters to show up.

"I think there's a hole here I can fit through," Sharon said a couple minutes after they got out of view.

"How deep in there are they?"

"They're on the ground floor," Wanda said, sounding thoughtful. "They're only a few yards from where we are, but I don't know what is between us and them. Rubble doesn't have a mind for me to follow."

"But we have no idea how stable this pile is. I assume you can't hold up this much rubble?"

"No," she admitted. "I could, perhaps, form a bubble of some sort around Sharon. It would protect her and the children once she found them. I wouldn't need to hold up everything."

"Unless the whole thing collapsed." He touched his ear. "Guys. I know you can both fly. Sooner the better."

"Apologies. Captain," Vision said. "But we have a few dozen survivors in an office building we're trying to evacuate. I'm not much help as I'm currently supporting a corner of the building."

"We could use some help, actually." That was Rhodey.

"Shit." He sighed. "Don't do anything until I get back," he called to Sharon and Wanda. "Just keep me appraised." Into the comm he said, "I'll be right there."

He jogged off before they could respond, finding the men a few streets over. He jumped in immediately, helping Rhodey usher the traumatized business people out of the remains of the building. There was an aid station down the block that he steered them towards.

They were doing a final sweep when an aftershock rattled the ground under their feet. The corner of the building Vision was holding up gave and overwhelmed him, and Steve and Rhodey barely got out of the avalanche of debris. "Vision?"

"I'm fine, I'll dig myself out." He sounded his usual calm self, so Steve didn't worry.

He'd just barely steadied himself when Sharon's voice came over the comm. "The pile shifted. Wanda's holding it up."

"The _whole_ pile?" 

"Yes."

"The children are very afraid," Wanda said tightly. He didn't know if that was an explanation or a warning. 

"Steve, I need to go in. She can't hold it like this for long."

"I'll be right there," he said, turning. "Rhodes—" He cut off because the man was whacking his suit's flickering arc reactor with the heel of his hand. He'd gotten pummeled good. And Sam was on the other side of the city. 

He could hear Wanda breathing hard with exertion. When Sharon spoke it was with stern determination. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we can wait." There was rustling, which might have been her peeling off some of her gear. "I'm going in."

Steve stopped dead, cold dread curling in his stomach. It was dangerous. Too dangerous. But he couldn't tell her not to. She wouldn't listen anyway. He tended to call her Carter in their field, and she called him Captain. It helped them compartmentalize. But she'd called him Steve. So he said, "Sharon."

He heard her clear her throat. "I will see you when I get out." He had the distinct impression there was more she wanted to say, but they were on the comm, with a lot of ears listening.

He opened his mouth to tell her she kept him warm, because they had turned that little exchange into a code for the things neither of them could say. Suddenly all he could think about was his plane going down in the arctic seventy years ago, and the things he didn't say to Peggy because they were on the radio, and people might hear. 

"Hey," he said instead. "I love you."

There was a moment of complete and utter silence. Then, very quietly, "I love you, too. Very much."

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, very aware of the audience. "Don't die," he told her.

"Copy that." After that he heard scuffling and her breathing changed and he knew she'd started making her way through the pile of rubble. He took off at a run, having nothing to do but listen, and get there as quickly as possible.

Sharon's voice came over the comm, soft and soothing. "Hi there. Hey, it's okay." She murmured in what sounded like Cantonese for a few moments, then switched back to English. "I have the kids. We're making our way back. One of them was pinned, gonna need some medical support."

"On my way," Sam said, before Steve could pause to catch his breath and speak.

Wanda made a noise of strain and possibly pain, a moan slowly getting louder into a wail. Steve felt something yank his shield off his back, and then he was lifted up by the straps that held it to his uniform. He turned his head to see Vision, who had apparently gotten out of the rubble. "Pardon me, Captain." He handed Steve his shield. "Thought you could use a lift."

They landed next to the building to find Wanda on her knees, Sam hovering behind her, obviously not sure how or if to help her. The rubble pile looked far more precarious than it had before, large beams hovering on nothing. He could still hear Sharon coaxing the kids out on the comm. It took everything he had no to try to go in after and help.

A little boy emerged from the bottom of the pile, scurrying free and turning to help a younger girl who was right behind him. They stumbled away from the rubble and a moment later Sharon appeared, crawling one handed, holding a child no more than two against her chest.

The rubble shook, and Wanda screamed, a could of dust billowing out of the hole Sharon had just come out of. The pile began to collapse, and a purple blur went past him, as Vision caught the group of them and dragged them free of the rubble. They collided with Steve, who fell back into Wanda and Sam, the five of them and the children sprawled in a heap on the pavement as a cloud of dust and fine debris flowed over them.

Even in the chaos and dust, he recognized the body on his chest as Sharon. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her hair. Her heart was pounding hard enough he could feel it through her shirt and his armor.

When everything had settled, they all disentangled. Vision righted the two older children and he and Wanda tried to calm them and find out where their parents would be. Sam took the youngest, injured girl from Sharon so he could inspect her leg.

And that left him and Sharon tangled on the dusty ground.

He tried to wipe the dust off her face. "You—are you—?" he stammered. She nodded, indicating that she was okay, and he did the only thing he could think to do right them, which was kiss her.

She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. Her hair had come out of its braid and he sunk a hand into it, holding her to him. 

After a moment, she lifted her head, just enough to whisper against his mouth, "Say it again."

He grinned so wide it hurt. She was all right, she was all right. "I love you."

Her eyes lit up and she smiled beautifully. "I love you," she told him, before kissing him again.

Steve heard Sam call, "Get a room!" and then someone, he thought Vision, helpfully put his shield on top of them, covering their heads.

Eventually, they realized that were still in a disaster area and it would probably be a good idea to get up and keep working. Letting her go was one of the hardest things he'd done, but he forced himself to do it. "I'll see you later," she said softly, taming her hair again.

He leaned down to kiss her. Whatever, the cat was out of the bag here. "You still smell good."

She grinned and looked like she might be blushing. "So do you."

A crying silver-haired woman had come to collect the children who were crawling all over her in an attempt to hug her the hardest. Vision was talking to the woman. Some part of the programming that had gone into him had included the ability to speak the 300 -odd languages that covered 95% of the human population. They found it endlessly useful in the field.

Wanda seemed to have recovered somewhat, now munching a granola bar and juice box someone had found her. Sharon stopped and crouched next to her, stroking her hair to talk to her softly. Wanda leaned in, resting her head on Sharon's shoulder. Steve was struck for a moment at how young she was and how good Sharon was with her. With all the trainees and the kids. She was an asset to the team.

"The look on your face is ridiculous."

Steve didn't turn to look at Bucky, who was behind him. "You can't see my face."

"And yet, I know exactly what your face looks like." He slung his metal arm around Steve's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Was that the first time you told her you loved her? Right there on the comms?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Why would you think that?"

"Because the two of you sounded like you were saying goodbye on the Titanic, not a couple who says those words all the time."

Steve made a face at him. "Did you see how close she came to getting killed?" He really didn't want to look at that too closely.

"I did," Bucky conceded. "And had she been hurt I would not be teasing you. But she seems fine and I think we're winding down here, so it is my _duty_ as your oldest and best friend, to give you shit about this."

"Things are complicated," he replied.

"I think you complicate things." He held up at hand. "I know, I know. Yours is not a simple life. But you shouldn't let history and bad optics stop your from having a future." Bucky looked over at Sharon, who was now on her cell phone. "You deserve her. You deserve a life."

Fear stripped you, and left nothing but honesty. "She makes me happy. I haven't felt like this in. . . such a long time."

Bucky gave him another squeeze, shaking him a little. "I know exactly what you mean."

Sharon hung up and joined them. "Wanda's going to do one more sweep but she doesn't think there's anyone still trapped. I've talked to the aid coordinator and they have everything under control. It's mostly just clean up and moving the displaced people to safe areas. I'm assuming Rhodey doesn't want to fly home after this-"

"No, thank you," he said over the comm.

"So Hill and I found a hotel in Beijing that will let us park the jet on their roof. Rooms are booked and I gave the conceirge our clothing sizes. They'll have changes of clothes for everyone who needs them." She paused. "Vision, I got you a room but I assumed you didn't need clothes."

"As always, I can see to my own attire."

A hotel room sounded like the best thing in the world. "Sounds like a plan."

*

They landed on top of the hotel about an hour later and were met by the hotel manager, a woman a few years older than Sharon who greeted them warmly. They went over logistics while the others deplaned. "And you're sure the jet isn't a problem."

"Not at all," the manager said, smiling in such a way Sharon couldn't really tell if she was being sincere or was just a master of customer service. "Guests are always welcome to our landing pad for their private transportation."

The rest of them had gathered around, so they headed through the roof access door and down a short flight of stairs to an elevator and down two floors. The manager handed her a small stack of envelopes. "Here is your floor and your room keys. The envelopes have been labeled based on the clothing requests. We have blacked out the other rooms on the floor so you won't be disturbed."

"Thank you very much," Sharon said as they spilled out into the hallway.

"You are quite welcome. I saw you on the news, helping with the clean up. We are very grateful for your help and honored to welcome you for the evening. Room service is open until midnight and if you need anything please call our concierge any time of day or night." With a little nod of thanks she pushed a button and the elevator doors closed with a soft whoosh.

They all stood there for a moment, dirty and exhausted in the pristine, opulent hallway. Then Rhodey clapped Sharon on the back. "Tony would be so proud of you."

"He'd have just bought the hotel," Amanda commented.

She looked around for Steve, he'd walked a few feet away and was on the phone. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement that he saw her looking for him.

"It was the first one that agreed to the jet," she said in explanation. She flipped through the envelopes and handed them out based on the clothing sizes listed on the front. Everyone else peeled away, disappearing into their rooms. The room assigned to her and Steve was at the far end, with double doors. Glancing back, she found him still on the phone, so she opened the doors on her own. Maybe she could get a head start on her shower.

It was an enormous room, obviously a suite of some sort. Floor to ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A king bed piled with pillows dominated another wall. Leaving the doors open, she went to the ajar bathroom door to find a deep soaking tub and separate glassed in shower that was easily big enough for two.

She could get used to mission cools downs like this.

Steve came into the doorway behind her. "So, apparently the in-room spa services are still open. We have two massages coming up in about 30 minutes."

_That's_ who he'd been on the phone with? She gave a happy little squeak and hugged him. "I love you." She was so happy she could say it. Now that it was out it didn't frighten her at all. She only wished she'd done it a long time ago.

He gave a sigh of contentment and relaxation. "I love you, too."

"I have for a very long time," she admitted.

"I knew," he said. "Mostly. I could tell you felt what I felt. I just didn't want to name it."

She nodded, listening to his heartbeat steady under her cheek. "You're still my light."

He kissed her hair. "You still keep me warm."

They could have both, she realized. Their little secret code and the real words. They could mean the same thing and it wouldn't change anything. Wouldn't make fate or karma or the gods come down and smite them. It was freeing, like someone had taken a weight off her chest, her shoulders.

Leaning back, she gave him a soft smile. "I seems polite to rinse off the worst of the sweat and grime before the massages get here. Do you want the shower first?"

He grinned at her. "I was thinking we could have a bath. Soak the muscles."

That grin sent heat through her. "I'm interested in your ideas. Do you think we have time for a bath?"

"I have the utmost faith in us."

It would either be heaven or sheer torture. Either way, she was up for the challenge. Giving him a smacking kiss she stepped away and walked to the bathtub, fiddling with the water till it was nice and hot before pushing in the stopper. There were bath salts and soaps lined up along the back of the tub and she sniffed a few before drizzling in an oil that smelled woodsy and earthy, like Steve. Then she started to peel off her clothes.

They left their tac gear in a dirty pile on the bathroom floor. She would really never, ever get tired of how good he looked naked. He looked a little bemused at her staring. but she refused to look away. They were young and alive and in love. She was going to look her fill.

The tub filled and she turned the water off before climbing in. It was high enough it was actually a bit of a stretch. She felt a helping hand on her ass as she got over, sinking into the steaming, fragrant water. He swung a leg over and climbed in, settling across from her. His groan sounded rather like a sex noise.

Water sloshed as they rearranged their legs around each other. For a few minutes they sat in companionable silence, letting the hot water soak into their skin. Then Sharon held her nose and dunked her head, getting her hair wet. When she surfaced she snagged a wash cloth from the shelf behind the tub and leaned forward to run it over her shoulder and arm.

He quirked an eyebrow. "You need help with that?"

"I was trying to be good," she said. "We have company coming."

"So I should perhaps not mention that the serum gave me the ability to hold my breath for like 4 minutes?"

She groaned, feeling a rush of heat between her legs that had nothing to do with the bath. "How has this information not come up before this?"

He shrugged easily. "I barely fit in your bathtub." He closed his hand around her ankle. "Plus, a little mystery does a relationship good."

He tugged her a little, making her sink deeper into the water. For a moment, she had that helpless, weightless feeling she so loved when she was with him. She gripped the edges of the tub. "You won't be able to hear me beg."

His eyes darkened with desire. "I'll forgo that. I don't want to drown."

Oh, she hoped she saw that look in his eyes the rest of her life. Her hips lifted a little and she whispered, "Please."

He leaned closer to kiss her, soft and slow. Then he pointed his finger at her. "Four minutes." He flashed her another grin and ducked under the water.

In an instant his mouth was on her, even hotter than the water. She gripped the sides of the tub so she wouldn't try to grip at his head. He knew exactly what she liked, exactly how to please her the best. They were on a timer and she had had a hell of a day, so she tipped her head back and gave in to it.

Pleasure built, tightened, and crested, washing through her. She closed her eyes and cried out, arching. It wasn't the most intense climax she'd ever had. But it was a release, of far more than she'd expected. She was a little surprised at the tears that spilled over.

She heard splashing of him surfacing, and then sucking in deep breaths. Then he touched her cheek, wiping at the tears. "Sharon."

She shook her head. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm all right. I was just. . . compartmentalizing. And it all came undone."

"Try holding your breath," he said quietly. "It helps the pain."

Reaching for him, she hiccuped a little, trying to catch her breath before she could hold it. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his shoulder. "It was dark and stuffy and cramped. I didn't really know where I was going, I only had Wanda's general idea and I just. . . I could feel it wanting to fall."

"You did good," he whispered. "You did so good."

She nodded, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. "I'm sorry. It just all hit me at once."

He was quiet a moment, then he whispered, "I was terrified."

It caused a new bout of tears. "I'm sorry."

He stroked her hair. "Don't apologize. I don't think I was more scared than you."

"Thank you for saying it. For- for taking the step. I needed to hear it. It helped."

Steve sighed, shifted them so he was leaning back and she was curled in his lap, most of their bodies under the water. "I couldn't bear the idea that you wouldn't know, if. . .if. . ." he trailed off, like he couldn't finish the sentence.

"I know." She listened to his heart beat and relaxed as he stroked her back. "We should tell my family. I can't hide you forever and it's blatantly obvious that this is real and permanent."

"I agree," he said quietly. "On all counts."

She closed her eyes and slumped against him. "I love you. I'm looking forward to our couples massage."

"Me too." He squeezed her thigh. "Stop wiggling like that, or mine is going to be very uncomfortable."

Smiling, she pressed a little kiss to his throat. "I can't hold my breath. But I could still probably help you with that."

She could feel his smile in the way his jaw moved. "Could you, now?"

Shifting, she slid a hand down and found him half hard. She circled her hand around him and stroked, using the water to add more sensation. "Yes," she said, voice thick. "This is definitely something I could find a solution for."

He groaned, and tipped his head back. "Because you are the most brilliant woman I know."

She kissed his throat, licking sweat and steam off his skin. There was no time to tease him, to luxuriate in everything she wanted to do to him. That could be for later. Now she focused on his cock, stroking it to full thickness and hardness, watching his chest heave with his breathing and the muscles cord in his throat.

Leaning forward, she kissed his jaw and whispered in his ear. "Like this? Or inside me?"

He sucked in a shaky breath. "If I—you won't—I can't—" he stammered, like forming thoughts was hard.

He loved when she begged. She loved when she reduced him to incoherence. In the interest of neatness, if nothing else, she shifted again. It took a bit of coordination, but she managed to time it so her hand stroked up him and then she lowered herself down, taking his full length inside her. He made a sharp, involuntary noise, bucking up and clutching at her. Clearly that felt very good.

She cradled his head against her breast, stroking his hair as he panted. She pressed a light kiss against his temple. "Okay?"

He chuckled, kissing her skin. "Fuck. Yes."

Having him inside her was nice, even if her body was a little confused as to the quickness of it. She dipped her head and kissed his mouth tenderly, feeling oddly protective of him. Of them, and the new yet familiar thing between them.

"I'm going to tell you I love you every day," he murmured.

"I'm okay with that. You could do so multiple times a day, if you want."

"Twice on Sunday."

"I look forward to that." She kissed him again and reached for the edges of the tub. "We should get out and dry off. I must be near time."

He watched her climb out so openly she almost felt the gaze like a touch. "We can always come back after."

"Yes," she said softly. "Rinse off the oil."

"Shower looks big enough for two," he said as he heaved himself out of the water.

She watched him just as he'd watched her, then they helped each other dry off between kisses. They were dry and wrapped in robes by the time the massage therapists came.


	20. Chapter 20

The massage was heavenly, easing all her aches and pains. At one point she dozed off, relaxed beyond measure, but found herself back under that building, the air too thick to breathe and the precarious rubble above her pressing down on her back. She jerked away just as it started to come down on her. The woman working on her soothed her with a hand on her back and quiet murmur and she was able to relax again, but made an effort not to sleep.  
 When it was over Steve walked the ladies to the door and gave them a hefty tip. Sharon tied her robe tightly around herself and went to stand in front of the huge windows, looking out at the bright city stretched out before them. "Sort of wish I had my camera," she said when she heard Steve come up behind her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "You should bring it on missions."

She leaned into him, because he was strong and stable and would protect her from anything. "We were rushed this time. Maybe I'll get a smaller one for my gear bag."

"It helps process things," he told her. "Art. It should be part of your kit."

"I could use some processing," she admitted.

HIs arms tightened. "You want to talk about it?"

She took a deep breath and focused on the city, framing and composing pictures even without a camera. "I think I'm going to feel about small spaces the was you feel about the cold. For a while, anyway."

Steve kissed her hair. "I'll take the Igloo Hotel off our vacation destination list."

Laughing felt good. "I'm afraid to sleep." The confession came out of her before she'd really processed the thought. "I close my eyes and it's hard to breathe."

"It'll get better," he told her. "It will take some time. Giving in to the insomnia doesn't help, but that's advice I'm lousy at taking." He rocked her. "Tonight we can stay up all night if you want."

She took a deep breath of his scent, muffled a bit by the scent of the oil the therapists had used on them. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the physical, the solid heat of him behind her, the sensual softness of her oiled skin. "That sounds like a really good idea," she said softly.

"It's not your body heat," he said after a moment. "When I tell you you keep me warm. It's having you there to ground me to reality. Pull me out of the memory. And that I feel safe enough not to have to hide it." 

It occurred to her, with rather bleak humor, that saying he was her light would now have the same double meaning. Half turning, she tilted her head back and kissed him. "You make me feel safe. Like this."

He cradled her face in his hands. "I will do everything in my power to keep doing that."

She swayed into him. "Can you. . . can you take me out of my head for a little while?" She cupped his waist through the soft cotton of his robe. "Make me feel like it's just us in the whole world."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I believe that is within my skill set, yes."

Stepping closer, she tugged the tie of her robe loose. "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you," he replied, his hands parting the fabric and moving beneath. "That's all that matters right now." His hands were rough as they slid over her skin. She focused on that, the light patterns he traced, the aimless path he took over her body. It felt good, familiar, and it grounded her nicely.

He pushed the robe off her shoulders, and she dropped her arms to let it fall. They she repeated the motion on him—unwrapping the robe and pushing it off. His skin was warm and soft, slightly slick from the massage. She took the opportunity to run her hands over him, mapping him in a way she hadn't done in a long time.

He was beautiful, it was the only word for it. She loved him for his mind and his heart and his humor. She liked to think she would have loved the scrawny little man whose picture sat on her dresser at home. But she appreciated, every day, exactly how perfect he was to look at and touch.

She trailed fingers along every arc and line on his chest and stomach. Standing here naked with him in front of the windows gave her a glimmer of that dangerous thrill she got when they had sex at work. They were a dozen floors above any other building in the area and fairly isolated. Someone would need a good telescope and a lot of luck to see them. But the _idea_ of it made heat pool in her belly.

On her second pass exploring him she added her nails, dragging them feather light over his skin. A fine shudder passed through him, and his eyelids lowered. "Think that glass would hold?" he murmured.

"I'm not sure." She leaned forward to lick one of his hard nipples, tasting bitter oil and salt. "We can get kind of enthusiastic."

"That's true. It would be an embarrassing way to die."

"Think of the headlines." Her hand had picked up a bit of the oil from touching him, so when she curled her fingers around his erection they slid easily over the soft skin. "Do you think anyone can see us?" she whispered, teasing.

"In some of the other high buildings, maybe. Well enough to guess what we're doing. Not well enough to see who we are."

Maybe she was an exhibitionist, because that sent heat through her as sure as any touch would. She stretched up to kiss him, open mouthed and needy. He ran his hand down her back, cupping her ass and lifting her against him just a little. It made her stretch on her toes. 

For a few minutes they just kissed, like horny teenagers in the back of a car. He had both hands on her ass now, holding her tight against him, a little off balance. His cock ground against her stomach, hard and hot between them.

"Please," she whispered between kissed. "Fuck, please."

He hitched her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He didn't press her against the glass—he probably _was_ strong enough to break it. Instead he carried her over to the bed, which faced the windows. He knelt on it and draped her over the end, so if she tipped her head back, she could see everything.

She felt his fingers on her sex and he groaned, probably at how wet she was. His weight shifted and he parted her folds and the broad head of his cock pressed at her entrance. She lifted her head to watch as he slowly slid into her, her body stretching to accommodate him. Then she let her head fall back and watched the city lights sparkle as he started to move. He bent down to kiss her neck and whispered, "Memorize that. You have all the space in the world."

Her breath hitched in her chest. She sank her fingers in his hair to ground herself and did as he said. She burned every light into her memory. The arc of the moon and the faint stars in the distance. When she closed her eyes they were still there, not the oppressive dark of the building.

He had set a slow, maddening pace, just enough to push her higher and keep her on edge. God, he knew her so well. She rode it as long as she could, savoring every moment. With his patience he could probably keep it up all night, but he eventually he had her whimpering, needing more. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease."

Bracing on one arm, he reached between them to stroke her clit, in just the right pattern. He had that memorized perfectly too. "Watch the sky and come for me," he told her.

Whimpering again, she opened her eyes and looked out at the city again. Her orgasm in the bath tub had been sharp and quick, like a firework. This one was slow and deep, pouring through her in waves, making her arch and gasp beneath him. She rode it out, pulses that seemed to have no end as his fingers continued to stroke. And the stars seemed to swirl and dance.

She turned at looked at him, watch him suck in a breath and his eyes close as he joined her. The heat of his release filled her and he slumped onto her. She cradled the back of his head in her hands and breathed in his scent, heavy and rich with sex. For a moment, they were the only people on earth. And she was safe and protected in his arms.

He nuzzled his face into her neck. "I love you."

"I love you back," she murmured, stroking his back gently. "Thank you."

He kissed her ear. "I enjoyed it as much as you."

"Mmm." After a few more moments of lounging the blood started to rush to her head unpleasantly and he gamely shifted, easing out of her and moving them until they were laying properly on the bed. Sharon rested her head on his chest, curled tight around him. "We should go camping this summer."

He lifted his head to look at her. "Camping?"

"Yes. Two of us alone out in the woods. Maybe bring Wolfie. Sex under the stars. Privacy. Peace."

"That sounds. . . blissful. Though we're getting really nice gear. I've had some unpleasant outdoor sleeping experiences I don't wish to repeat."

She laughed. "No, no, of course. Nice tent. Inflatable mattress. I'm guessing a cot would be impractical."

He yawned. "We deserve a vacation."

"We do," she agreed. She could feel him relaxing under her and she stroked his arm gently. Sleep still didn't appeal, but she felt bad keeping him awake. "We could take many of them."

"I approve." Then, to her surprise, he stretched, and slowly sat up, gently setting her back on the bed. "How do you feel about room service."

The mention of food caused her to realize how very hungry she was. "I approve."

He kissed her nose, and reached for the bedside phone. He didn't ask for an order, but he knew her very well. And sounded like he was ordering most of the menu anyway. She wandered into the bathroom to clean herself up a little. The spare clothes the hotel had found for them were folded on the dresser right outside the bathroom door and she picked through it, sliding into a set of silk pajamas way nicer than any she owned. They felt heavenly on her skin.

Steve was still lounging on the bed naked when she returned. "Twenty minutes," he told her.

She stood at the end of the bed to admire him a moment. "I suppose I can wait that long." Putting a knee up on the bed, she crawled up, draping herself on top of him, head tucked under his chin. "You're perfect."

"I am nothing of the sort."

His voice rumbled in his chest when he spoke and she grinned. "Well, then you do an excellent impression of it."

"If so, it's only because you bring out the best in me."

"Maybe we're just perfect for each other," she murmured, nuzzling his neck.

"I think you are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I _am_ pretty awesome."

He sifted his fingers through her hair. "Yeah, you are."

With his heart thumping steadily beneath her and his hand stroking her gently, she felt safe enough to close her eyes. Just for a few minutes, until the food got here.

*

Sharon slept through the arrival of room service. He ate his order, and then put everything else in the mini fridge. He watched her for a moment, finally relaxed, and his heart ached for her. Being a hero wasn't easy. He wrapped blankets around them and tucked her close again. He was bone tired.

He woke just after dawn to Sharon trying to fight her way out of the covers, making little panicked sounds. Steve yanked them off, understanding why. "It's okay, it's okay," he said, stroking her back but deliberately not holding her.

She came awake with a gasp, eyes wild for a moment. Then she focused on his face and took a few deep, shuddery breaths before rolling towards him, burying her face against his shoulder. He held her now, rubbing her back in gentle circles. "I gotcha, I'm here."

It took a few minutes for her breathing to even out. She still held him tight a moment before lifting her head. "I appear to have slept through dinner."

"I put it in the fridge. Though we could get breakfast, now."

She sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. "At least I slept a little."

"The nightmares get better," he said quietly. "Your mind will process it and they'll ease up."

Nodding, she took another breath and lowered her hands. "I've had them before, after the Trisk. They were a little vaguer and more. . . symbolic. But they faded in a couple months."

"I know it helps to talk about it. To share the common experience. Don't get all quiet and stoic."

"I'm really good at stoic, though," she said with a little smile.

He wanted so badly to wrap her up and protect her. To take all her pain away. "Yeah, I know. But you and me, right here? This is the once place you don't have to."

She nodded again and leaned on his shoulder. "I know. I can be weak around you. It's. . . I'm getting used to that." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it out. "The nightmare is fading. I remember walls falling in and feeling like I was suffocating."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. It was all he could say.

They were a silent a moment, then she turned her head to kiss his throat. "Breakfast might be good. Syrup fixes a lot of problems."

"We have half an hour until the kitchen opens, I believe. Shower might be a good thing."

"I do find them soothing. And it helps me wake up, gonna be a long trip home."

"Would you like company or to shower alone?" He tried to ask with as neutral a tone as possible.

He felt her smile against his skin. "I would very much like some company. Your 'company' is also very soothing. In a totally different way."

He kissed her hair. "Endorphins will do you good."

This time he did lift her up against the glass.

After drying off (during which he coaxed another climax out of her while she squirmed in his lap) they ordered breakfast and dressed. Sharon texted with Rhodes on timing, then informed the rest of them wheels up would be at 10am. That gave everyone enough time to eat, shower and dress if needed.

They had a little time to kill, so he sat with his sketchpad by the window, intending to draw the skyline, but found himself watching Sharon instead. She was finishing off her coffee and picking at the remains of her breakfast, staring at her phone. Based on the periodic typing and noises coming from the phone it sounded like she was catching up on emails. She made little faces in reaction to whatever she was reading or writing, everything from annoyance to confusion to a couple of honest smiles.

He flipped the page and decided to draw her instead. He had her face memorized, but he wanted to capture all her expressions. He wanted to have them all down on paper.

In case he lost her.

It was a grim thought and not one he wanted to explore in depth. But the drawing made him feel better. It was a way of processing, like he'd told her.

He was so absorbed in it he didn't notice she'd gotten up until she was standing next to him. "I am adorable when I wrinkle my nose."

"You are adorable in many of your faces," he replied, chewing on the end of his pencil.

She crouched and kissed his temple. "If you'd ever like me to pose for you properly, I'd love to."

He leaned his head against hers. "It's less fun than you think."

"Sitting perfectly still while you stare at me, possibly naked. I think I'll manage."

"You'll work yourself into a state, I'll have to stop halfway through. . ."

She nibbled his ear. "To relieve me or work me into more of a state?"

He turned to kiss her. "Little bit one one, little bit of the other."

"See? That sounds like fun to me."

Steve stroked her hair off her face, watching her carefully. She'd put her guard back up soon. "Ready to face the world?"

"I think so." She smiled. "I am certainly ready to be home."

"I miss the dog," he replied.

"Me too." She stood and he started putting his sketchbook away as he gathered up their gear. "And the fire place and the bed. Maybe the snow will keep melting."

"I hope so. I'm really sick of it." He glanced over at her. "Though not as much as I used to be."

"It did have its merits," she agreed. She stepped close and kissed him. "We can still pretend to get snowed in."

"Sounds like a plan."

It was past time to get to the roof. He grabbed the duffel bag that had their gear and new clothes in it, then they headed out to the elevator. Rhodey was already up there, along with Sam and Vision, doing his preflight check. The others filed in soon after Steve and Sharon, finding seats for the long ride home.

He reached out and took her hand as they lifted off. It was pretty personal, for a mission. But he'd told her he loved her over the comm. Nobody would be surprised. She wove her fingers with his and leaned on his shoulder. Somewhere over the Pacific, she drifted off, obviously lulled by the sound of the engine and quiet vibrations of the jet.

Across the way, Wanda glanced over, a worried line between her brows. "She didn't sleep last night?"

He didn't know how much he should say—but then, you couldn't hide anything from Wanda. "She did. We did. Some," he conceded. "How about you?"

Inexplicably, she blushed a little. "I was. . . unsettled. But Vision came to speak with me for a while." She glanced to the front of the jet, where the android was copiloting with Rhodey. "It helped."

Steve wasn't sure what to make of that. "Crappy things are always better with company."

"Yes," she said quietly. Then looked back at him and smiled. "Being around you and Sharon helps as well. Your love burns bright. Chases away the darkness."

That was a hell of a compliment. He looked down at the top of Sharon's head, then bent his head to press a kiss into her hair. To Wanda, he said, "Thank you." He looked up. "She's told me about the light."

"It's only getting brighter."

"I'm feeling vaguely insulted on behalf of my love," Bucky said, earning him a little kick from Amanda.

Wanda looked over at them. "Your love is more like the ocean. Deep and steady, with dark mysterious places."

Bucky blinked, as if he hadn't actually expected an answer. Amanda kissed his cheek. "I like that."

"So everyone's looks different?" Steve asked.

"Oh yes. And different kinds of love feel different. It was actually hard for me to understand what it was at first, because I had only ever felt it from Pietro." Sorrow flickered across her face. "But then I stayed with the Bartons. They love each other like fire. And they grew to love Mikael. And me, in a way. It was a good way to learn."

"I imagine love is always a good feeling."

"Yes. As long as it's mutual."

"Unrequited love is bad?"

Wanda tilted her head. "It's painful. And if it continues can go rotten. Not anyone here, but I've walked past people while out in public who were dealing with unhealthy things."

"I never thought about that," Steve said quietly. "You hear everyone."

"All the time." She lifted a shoulder. "Sometimes it's quite lovely." Beside him Sharon stirred a little and nuzzled closer. Steve absently kissed the top of her head. "See?" Wanda said. "Just like that."

This got a chorus of awww's from the others, except for Vision. The moved on to other topics while Sharon slept on. Steve eventually rearranged her so her head was in his lap, the rest of her curled up on the jump seats.

She woke up, grumbling and rubbing her neck, somewhere over the mid west. "In flight service on this airline sucks."

"We're almost home," he told her.

Nodding, she dug her phone out to scroll through her messages. As he watched, the color drained out of her face. "Oh, fuck."

He touched her arm, hair on the back of his neck standing up. "What?"

"We're on the news."

"We did just dig out half of China," Amanda said.

"No." Sharon rubbed a hand over her face. "Steve and I kissing. We're on the news. My family is texting me."

He ducked his head. "God. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said, but it sounded automatic. She scrolled more and snorted. "My brother wants to know if you taste like freedom."

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against his seat. All he could do was repeat, "I'm sorry."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "We said we were gonna tell them."

"I know, I just. . ." This wasn't how he'd pictured it. "I thought maybe if they met me—actual me—it might be all right."

"I know. But it is what it is. The texts seem generally positive, at least."

He opened his eyes, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes." She picked the phone back up. "Matt asked about tasting like freedom. Pat wants to know if his kids can tell their friends they know you based on the seven degrees principle. My mother is trying to plan a dinner and my father just texted 'I am so proud of you' in capital letters."

"I hope that was for rescuing the kids and not getting in Steve's pants," Bucky said.

"You know what? I'm not going to ask, just in case." She looked over at Steve. "I think you've been adopted."

He felt an odd lump in his throat. "Okay."

She reached up and touched his cheek. "Okay," she said softly, drawing him down to rest his forehead on hers.

He kissed her, not caring about the audience. "You tell your brother his kids can take me for show-and-tell."

Laughing, she cuddled closer. "Let's start with dinner."


	21. Chapter 21

They had dinner with her family the first weekend in April, booking a hotel for a couple of nights in an effort to squeeze a mini vacation out of the deal. They brought wine and flowers for her mother and were immediately swept up into the madness that was the whole Carter family in one house.

Her nephews swarmed Steve peppering him with questions. "How heavy is your shield?" "Do you really jump out of planes without a parachute?" "Did you really lift a motorcycle over your head?" "Can you lift _me_ over your head?"

Her dad hovered behind them, asking rather more adult, but still Captain America related questions. Sharon was starting to get worried Steve would feel he had to be in character all dinner. But then her brothers stepped in with very important questions on his favorite sports teams. This lead to a half hour three-way rant on the current state of baseball and how much better it was in Steve's day. By the time dinner started, he was all Steve and seemed visibly relaxed.

Dinner was Mom's domain. A Carter by marriage, she was completely unimpressed with Captain America and wanted to know everything there was to her daughter's boyfriend. She asked about his family, history, work, the team. This lead to both of them discussing the mission in China and some of the other work they were doing upstate. It felt like a perfectly ordinary dinner.

After dinner, Steve went out back with the boys to lets the kids play with his shield. "Kids" included the grown men, of course. Sharon ended up in the kitchen with her mother and the dishes.

She stood at the sink, hand washing the wine glasses and serving trays while her mother loaded the dishwasher. Through the window she could see the boys running around.

"I thought we'd lost you," her mother said quietly. "For a while there."

Sharon didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I was in a bad place."

"I'm not generally a fan of a man solving a girl's problems. . . but you're clearly happier. So I suppose he must get some credit."

Peggy had not been the only self-confident woman to raise Sharon. "He helps. He was a lot of it, maybe. But it was also working with the new trainees and making friends. Next time I'm down I'll bring Wanda to meet you. And Maria Hill is surprisingly fun once you get her out of the office." She lined another wine glass up on the drying rack. "I got a dog, too."

Her mother blinked. "You? A dog?"

"Yeah. He just. . . kind of happened." She gave her mom the short version of meeting Wolfie and was surprised when tears welled up in her eyes. "Mom?"

"You're taking pictures again," she said softly. Sharon reached out and hugged her, despite their wet hands.

"I was so worried about you," she whispered.

"I'm all right," Sharon said, rocking her a little. "It was rough for a while, but I'm all right." She kissed her mother's cheek. "Steve's been down the same hole. We got each other out."

"You take care of each other?"

"Yes." It was as complicated and as simple as that. Saying it out loud felt good. "I think we will for a long time."

"So I can at some point begin making completely unsubtle insinuations about the possibility of grand-babies?"

She couldn't help but grin at the idea. "I would appreciate if you can hold off until next trip. But yes, probably."

She looked out at the yard. "Seems like the type who would be a good Dad."

"I think so, too." Needing to do something with her hands she went back to the glasses. "And I think it's something he wants. And he's waited a long time to be ready for it."

"It may not be easy, you know. He's pretty famous."

"He is. But I knew that when we started. We're mostly left alone in New York. And he makes an effort to go incognito. Someday I'll send you a picture of his lumberjack look."

"I think I might like to see that."

There would be a lot of pictures of him, Sharon realized. At Thanksgiving with her family. By the tree with her nephews. Tossing the shield or the football with her brothers. He had given her light and peace and love and in return he was getting some of the family he'd lost. And someday, they'd have their own.

When the dishes were done she went out to the yard to see if he was ready to go. Matt flung the shield to her dad but it went a little off. So Sharon stretched a hand out to catch it herself, spinning with the momentum.

Steve came towards her, grinning widely. "Hello, love."

"Hello." She went on her toes to kiss him and said quietly, "You found that hot, didn't you?"

He pulled her closer, and murmured. "I can't wait to get back to the hotel."

"Ready when you are, Cap."

They said their goodbyes. Steve got friendly handshakes from the men and a warm hug from her mother that involved some maternal hair stroking. They held hands on the way to the car. As they got into it he watched her like he might eat her alive.

She curled a hand around his thigh as he drove towards their hotel. "You seemed to have a good time."

"I like your family. And they seem to like me."

"They loved you. Mom's very happy for us. Will probably start bugging us for grand babies."

"We would have adorable children," he replied.

"Blonde, cherubic, troublemakers," she agreed. "Maybe Bucky and Doc will have some too, they can all get each other into trouble."

She could hear the grin in his voice. "Trouble indeed."

Her hand wandered a little on his leg. "You want a lot?"

He seemed to genuinely consider that. "I do. I know that's not particularly fashionable these days, but. . ." he shrugged.

"I refuse the right to stop at one or two if pregnancy sucks." She smiled. "But I always pictured having a lot of kids."

"At least two. I always longed for siblings."

"Two should be very doable."

He grinned. "Got any other life plans we need to make?"

She squeezed his thigh. "I think that's probably a good start."

He glanced down. "You trying to _get_ started right here in this car?"

"We've never done it in a car," she said innocently. "But I think the hotel is more comfortable."

"Captain America Arrested For Public Indecency does not sound like a headline I want to read."

"That's true. We just got my family to like you."

He pulled up to the valet. "This won't be as nice as the hotel in Beijing."

"I'm sure we'll manage." The valet held the door open for her and she climbed out, waiting for Steve before they headed into the lobby. They held hands on the way to the elevator. The moment the doors closed, he pushed her against the back wall and kissed her.

She moaned into his mouth, tangling her hands into his hair. He pressed her firmer against the wall and she wiggled deliberately, as if fighting him. "Somebody could walk in on us," he told her.

Her whole body shuddered, toes curling. "Oh, God."

"Makes me wish you were wearing a skirt," he whispered against her ear, one hand coming up to cup her breast through her shirt.

"Next time," she promised, pressing into his hand. Her nipple tightened almost painfully, hard enough for him to feel through her bra and shirt. He circled it with a finger and she whimpered, grinding herself against his leg.

He nipped her neck. "I suppose if I turned you around. . ."

She pictured it and felt her skin flush. "We'll hit our floor soon," she protested softly, even though all she wanted to do was turn around.

"I know," he said, his voice a rumble. "There are probably cameras. But I want to."

It was amazing, really, how they could wind each other up with just a few choice words and an encyclopedic knowledge of each other’s kinks. "Fuck, so do I. Please. . ."

The doors pinged and slid open. Steve stepped back abruptly, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her out of the elevator. The distance between the elevator and their door passed in a blur. It was good he carried her because she actually felt a little light headed. All the blood had rushed to other places, she supposed.  
 She had enough sense to pull the key card for their door out of her jeans pocket and slide it into the slot, so that Steve wouldn't just break it. He still knocked the door in with a little too much force, and strode into the room. He dropped her on the bed and came down on top of her. The kiss was rough and deep.

Still fully dressed, she wrapped her legs around him, grinding herself against him. She didn't expect her clothes to survive this and the thought filled her with heat, almost as much as the teasing in the elevator had. He was hard, the lines of his erection obvious even through both their jeans and her muscles clenched in anticipation.

Sure enough, he grabbed ahold of the waistband of her jeans and pulled from either side, ripping them in half. It was unbearably hot, both as an action itself, and as a demonstration of the sort of strength it took to tear denim.

She moaned and lay still as he gave her shirt the same treatment, leaving her in lace bra and panties, both a bright, patriotic blue she'd bought specifically to match his old costume. "Fuck," she whispered. "Please. . . tell me, tell me what you want. I'll do anything you like."

"I'm going to have to leave you in this lingerie." He leaned back so he could flip her onto her stomach. He kissed the back of her neck. "And I want to fuck you like this."

"Yes." She clenched again, shifting on the bed and feeling the lace of her underwear rub against her, already soaked. "Oh, yes, just like this."

He just moved it out of the way and thrust into her with no preamble and no foreplay. But she was so turned on it didn't matter, and he slid right in until he bottomed out.

She lifted up instinctively, feeling every inch of him move inside her. It was always so intense in this position. He couldn't move much, or quickly, but the friction made it so dizzyingly good that for a few minutes all she could do was clutch at the bed sheet and get lost in it. He pulled all the way out and then came back, over and over, agonizingly slow. "You feel so good," he whispered.

"Oh, God, so do you." The slow strokes were building her up slowly, like stoking a fire to create a huge blaze. She started clenching her inner muscles around him, as if to hold him inside her. It made every move feel more explicit. "Oh fuck," she mumbled. "Fuck me, please, please. Fuck."

He made a desperate sound, as if it were almost painful. "I can't—are you—?" She nodded, whimpering and thrust back into him. As if it had flipped a switch, the heat that had been building in her snapped, pouring molten pleasure through her veins. She cried out something that might have been his name as she shuddered and throbbed around him. His hands gripped her wrists, hard enough it hurt, and she felt his body shake above her. He gasped and his voice caught.

She lay limp, blood roaring in her ears, sex still pulsing around his cock buried firmly inside her. Steve was a heavy, pleasant weight on top of her. She felt his hand release her wrist and burrow beneath her and knew immediately what he was about. With a desperate sound, she tried to squirm away, but his fingers found her clit, sensitive and swollen, and rubbed, just on the edge of rough. He loved dragging that last drop of sensation out of her. She whimpered a half hearted protest but was already giving into it, fucking him as a second wave of pleasure engulfed her, making her ripple around him.

He groaned finally and rolled off her, sprawling on his back. "God, I love doing that."

"I've noticed," she mumbled. She honestly didn't think she could move, so she just lay there, basking in the echoes and flutters of aftershocks. "One of these days, you're gonna just make me pass out."

"Well, that sounds like a challenge," he replied.

She groaned and mustered the energy to swat at him. "So you like my Capette underwear?"

"I love it." He fiddled with the lace edge on her hip. "I didn't rip it."

"I noticed. I'll put this in my drawer with the garters and stockings." She stretched and lifted her head, propping herself on her elbows. "If you wanted to roll play I could try to affect a 40's ingenue tone. I think I'd end up sounding like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, though." She batted her eyes. "Golly, Mr. Captain, sir."

He grinned. "I've never been a man who wanted an ingenue." He leaned over to kiss her. "I like my women wise. And dangerous."

"I am both of those things." She kissed him. "I am also happy, and looking forward to the future. Which is new."

"Me too," he said. "And that's new for me, too."

They lay there a while, kissing gently. Finally, she got up to peel off the sexy underwear and he tugged the sheets down, so they could get into bed. Sharon rested her head on his shoulder and sighed, deep from her soul. "I suppose it feels like. . . anything that comes at us now we're facing together."

"That's been true for a while now. For me."

"Oh, I'm sure it's been true a long time. I'm just. . . processing it."

He pulled her closer. "Makes it less intimidating, doesn't it? Whatever comes."

"It's always better with a team. Even a team of two."

He kissed her hair. "You keep me warm."

She sighed happily and closed her eyes. "And you're my light."


	22. Chapter 22

Once again, Steve found himself disembarking an airplane in Italy and watching Clint Barton saunter towards him in what he thought might be the same plaid shirt. Only now it was tied around his waist in deference to the summer heat.

"I should have worn shorter shorts," Sharon said from behind him.

He turned to grin at her. "Yes, you should."

"You'll just have to wait until I can change," she informed him, nudging so he'd keep walking.

He took her bag from her as they walked towards Clint. "Are we going to fit in that truck?" he called in greeting.

"She can sit in your lap, right?" He reached out and shook his hand, clapping Steve on the shoulder at the same time. Then he held his hand out to her. "Thirteen."

Sharon grinned. "Aw. You remembered me."

"How did you end up with the Unlucky Number, anyway?" Steve asked as they got into the truck. She fit nicely on his lap. "You'd think they'd have skipped that."

"I recall it being deliberate," Clint said, turning the engine over and fiddling with knobs in an effort to get the AC running. "Your girl is a bit of a jinx."

"I refuse to believe that," he said. Though she did have kind of a tendency to get injured.

"Has she told you about breaking her foot on the marathon?"

"I vote we think of a new topic," Sharon said brightly, with just a hint of threat.

Steve rubbed her back. "How's Kate?"

"Good." Clint nodded. "Probably a little eager to get back to civilization. Farm life didn't sit with her quite as well as it did with Wanda or Bucky. But she learned what she came to learn. I think we're giving her back better than you left her."

"Bucky wanted me to ask if you made her shoot your longbow."

"Of course."

"Is there video?" Sharon asked.

"Absolutely not. We shoot with seriousness and dignity."

"You said that with a straight face, that's impressive."

"I probably should have filmed it. The longbow is taller than she is. The first time she tried to use it she had trouble handling it because of how tall it was."

"I'm sure that only made her more determined."

"She dragged Nat into Rome to go shoping and showed up the next day in six-inch platform heels."

Sharon lifted her fists over her head so fast Steve had to duck back to avoid getting uppercut. "That's my girl."

Clint laughed and shook his head. "Nat is so excited you both came for a visit. She's been baking all day."

"Steve's tasked me with getting some of her recipes."

He tightened his arms around Sharon's waist and nuzzled her shoulder. "She's a better cook than me."

She rested her chin on his head. "Makes sense to come to Italy and eat well."

Clint drove the truck down the bumpy half-paved road to their farm. It turned to dirt at their gates, and then eventually he rolled the truck up in front of their house. Steve could see the orchard in full bloom.

They parked and Steve opened then door before lifting Sharon out. She glanced back at him, eyes dark and he grinned. They're _really_ been looking forward to this trip. He and Clint grabbed the bags and they filed into the house.

It smelled of baked goods and fresh flowers inside. Steve heard Sharon stop to take a deep breath before following him to the kitchen where Nat was listening to Mozart and arranging muffins on a tray. She looked up when he came in and squeaked, darting around the kitchen island to hug him.

He lifted her up off her feet. "Hello, Natasha."

"It's so good to see you." She squeezed him tightly. "You look good."

"I always look good."

She smacked him on the back of the head and he put her down. "Fine. You look happy." Looking past him, she spotted Sharon and grinned. "I have you to thank for that, don't I?"

"I think so," Sharon said, coming forward to shake her hand. "But it's mutual."

Steve touched her back. "We take care of each other."

Nat looked from one to the other. "Look at you. You're like an advertisement for the all American couple. It's nauseating. Come have a muffin and then I'll show you your room."

"Clint told us about the baking."

"I like it," she told them, moving back to the kitchen counter. "It's organized. Measure everything correctly, stir it together in the right order and poof. Deliciousness." She held out the tray of muffins. "Play your cards right I'll make soufflés before you go."

He took one, and it was so good he ate it in three bites. Sharon and Nat stared at him. 

"He eats me out of house and home," Sharon said with a sigh.

"I have a seven year old boy," Nat said. "I sympathize."

"It was a long flight," Steve said. "We could probably both use a shower."

"Right. Come on. The boys are retiling the bathroom by your usual room so I put you down the hall." Nat gestured for them to follow her. Steve did not miss the fact that the room they were in was as far from Mikael's room as possible. He didn't know if that was a deliberate attempt to give them privacy, but it was appreciated. It also had an attached bath, rather than one across the hall, which Sharon certainly approved of.

"It's lovely," Sharon said. "Thank you."

"Look at all the furniture," Steve said. "The first time I stayed here, I slept on an inflatable mattress."

"That was a long time ago," Nat said. "Before I discovered rummage sales and antiquing and Clint discovered woodworking. Enjoy your showers, take some time to relax or nap if you want. I'll call when dinner's ready."

She left, closing the door, and Sharon looked up at him. "She's not at all like I remember her. It's amazing. She's a new person here."

"She is. They seem very settled and happy."

"It's good. To know it's possible. That there's a happy ending no matter how bloody the tale."

"I used to think they were a fluke. And that it wasn't in the cards for me." He nudged her. "Life's funny, isn't it?"

"It certainly is." She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him. "There was something about a shower?"

"Mmm, one at a time."

"Going to make me wait, Rogers?"

"This house is like 400 years old. I barely fit in the bathroom alone."

She laughed and kissed him again, tugging his lower lip. "Okay. But I'm going first and I'm going to think about you the whole time."

He slid his hands down to cup her rear. "That a promise?"

Her lids fluttered and she ground herself against him. It had been a very long plane ride. "Yes. You. Your hands. And your mouth."

He bent his head close to hers. "God, Sharon."

"Anticipation is fun," she murmured, kissing him deeply, sweeping her tongue over his lip. "I'll try to be quick," she added, stepping away and unto the bathroom. He groaned, and watched her go. Once the door shut, he went about unpacking their bags, trying to give himself something distracting to do.

Her shower was pretty quick - especially for her - and she came out in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She smiled when she saw he'd unpacked, but didn't comment and he took his turn in the shower so she could get dressed without temptation. 

The shorts she put on were _far_ shorter than the ones she'd come in.

He was unable to resist sliding his hands over her thighs, running his fingers along the hems. "You did this to torment me."

She hummed a little, widening her stance so he could move his hand all around the hem. "A little," she admitted. "I love how you look at me when you want to fuck me and have to wait."

"I do. I want to rip these shorts in half."

Her whole body shuddered and she turned to whisper, "Later," in his ear.

They should have taken their vacation somewhere they weren't houseguests. Somewhere they could lock themselves in a hotel room and be naked all day. Not that they couldn't do that at home.

Of course, if they had sex right now, it would probably be obvious when they went downstairs, and Nat would tease him. So in the interest of resisting temptation, they headed downstairs for more muffins and company.

Kate was back and she and Sharon had an enthusiastic reunion. Steve didn't really catch most of what the girl said, her words tripped over each other in her enthusiasm. But Sharon seemed to understand it and replied with equal excitement. They went into the living room, leaving Steve and Nat in the kitchen with the muffins.

She was giving him a cheshire-cat grin. He gave her a look. "I did not have sex while we were upstairs."

"Well, good. If you were that quick we might need to talk about strategies."

Steve laughed and shook his head. "Fair enough."

"You look so happy," Nat said, voice soft and warm. "I barely recognize you."

Suddenly there was a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow before speaking. "She keeps me warm."

Nat nodded and reached out to ruffle his hair. "Do I need to threaten her or has Bucky taken care of it?"

He chuckled. "I believe he has, yes."

"Right then. I'll stick with baking and teasing."

"I brought you a painting," he told her.

That got him an absolutely delighted smile. "Excellent. Can I see it? Where is it?"

"It's up in my suitcase, come on."

She waited for him to go ahead, then followed him upstairs to the room he was using. "So instead of having sex you unpacked. Maybe we _do_ need to have a chat."

He rolled his eyes. "I always unpack." He opened his suitcase and took out the painting he'd carefully wrapped in paper. It was a painting of their orchards, with her and Clint and Mikael in the foreground.

Nat titled her head, studying it a moment, then blinked rapidly, eyes bright. "Did you do this from memory?" she asked softly.

"I do have a photographic memory," he said by way of explanation.

She nodded, then she turned sharply and hugged him, hard enough he swore his ribs creaked. It was a near thing to her picking him up. "It's perfect," she whispered. "Thank you."

"You have a beautiful home, and a beautiful family."

Leaning back, she went on her toes and kissed his cheek. "And very good friends."

Dinner that night was delicious, like everything Nat cooked. Steve stuffed himself, which was quite a feat. Kate took up most of the conversation, but Steve noticed Sharon tried to draw Mikael out a few times. After dinner, the little boy brought out his sketch book and showed them what he'd been working on. He'd really improved since Steve had been there last.

They sat on the floor at the coffee table in the living room, and Steve let Mikael use us oil pastels. "They're like crayons for grownups."

He bent over his work, handing the pastels like they were made of gold. "I see what he's going to want for his birthday," Nat said, watching from the couch with a smile on her face.

Sharon stretched and rubbed Steve's back with her bare feet. "You're a good teacher, honey."

He leaned back, and turned his head to kiss her knee. "Thank you."

The adults chatted as Mikael finished his picture, a vaguely impressionist depiction of Nat's bee flower garden. The Bartons were apparently pondering taking Mikael on vacation somewhere, maybe the Greek isles or elsewhere on the Mediterranean. This lead to a long conversation about the best places for vacations for couples versus families. The easy normalcy of it soothed out any remaining stress Steve might have been holding.

Mikael was yawning when Nat announced it was bedtime. She and Clint both got up to help. Sharon leaned forward to whisper in Steve's ear, "Want to take a walk with me?"

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow. Something in her voice had made that sound vaguely dirty, though the words had been innocent.

She stood slowly, stretching and lifting her arms so her shirt lifted and he got a flash of her bare abdomen. "Nat says the orchard is really nice at night. Quiet and peaceful." Stepping around him she added, "Private."

He stood up. It would probably be too obvious to take a blanket. They'd make do. "Sounds lovely."

When he reached her, she slid her hand into his and they stepped out onto the porch, then down to the path leading out to the orchard. It was still warm out, a relief from the heat of the day, with a mild breeze.

It didn't take long for the trees to get thick enough to mask the lights of the house. It was easy to pretend they were alone in the world.

Sharon turned to him and kissed him, rough and urgent, pushing him back against a tree. He groaned, and slid his hands under her shirt. They'd gone camping several times that summer, not very far from their house. They'd spent nearly the entire time in their tent, except for the one time they'd spread their sleeping bag out under the stars. Sharon had gotten bitten by about a hundred mosquitos, and it had tragically been the last attempt at fully outdoor sex.

Her hands were on his fly and had it open almost before he realized what she was doing. She broke the kiss, tugging his lower lip with her teeth and whispered, "Someone might find us." Before sliding down to her knees. He felt her lick his length, making his cock twitch to attention, before closing her lips around him and taking him into her hot, wet mouth.

Well, now it wasn't just outdoor sex. It was dangerous outdoor sex. He leaned his head back against the tree. "Fuck."

She worked him for a few minutes, till his head was spinning - seriously, she was really fucking good at this - before leaning back and blowing cool air against him. "There'd be no denying what we're doing," she added, stroking him with a fist. Danger didn't really get him off, but winding Sharon up did. So he was happy to indulge her in this, especially because she was generally more cautious than he was.

He watched her. "With you down on your knees like that? Probably not."

Her lids drooped and he could see her shudder even in the moonlight. She leaned forward to suck him again, but held his gaze as she did so. He had no idea why the eye contact made it so much hotter, but it did. He reached behind himself to hold on to the tree, lest he hurt her by grabbing her hair too hard.

She teased him with her tongue and her lips and occasionally her teeth. A few times he managed to summon enough coherency to whisper to her, things about people finding them, seeing her like this. Each time it made her moan around him.

He was getting near his limit when she leaned back again. "I can't decide if I want to beg you to fuck me out here," she said almost conversationally. "Or finish this now and hope your rebound time has you ready to rip my shorts when we get back to our room."

Steve let go of the tree—he'd dug gouges in it—and reached down to pull her to her feet. Particularly when he was amped up, she seemed to weigh nothing at all. "Ground or tree is the only choice I'm giving you."

She squeaked a little, but he knew her well enough to know it was more surprise mixed with arousal and anything resembling fear. She glanced down at the admittedly bumpy and damp ground, then back at him. "Tree," she said in her pleading voice. "Please."

"Take your shorts off," he told her. "I don't trust myself."

Her hands were shaking a little as she did so, dragging the scrap of denim down her long legs. Her panties, lace and silk of an indeterminate color in this light, went with them. She stepped out of the tangle of clothes, along with the leather sandals she'd worn to come out here.

When she was done, she looked up at him and reached up, stroking her hands across his chest. "Please," she whispered, though he hardly needed more winding. "Please fuck me. Out here, like this. I need it."

He took one arm, then the other, and wrapped them both around his neck. "Hold on," he whispered, and then he cupped his hands under her thighs, lifting her up and spreading her wide. He leaned his back against the rough bark of the tree, just for balance, and shifted her so he could slide inside her. Her closing around his cock felt so good he had to be still for a moment. But then he shifted his grip and began to move her on him.

His strength could be handy sometimes.

It certainly turned her on. She was all but panting in his ear, occasionally whimpering little pleas as he moved her. At one point she looked up, then released him, first with one hand, then the other, so she could grab a thick branch above his head.

It changed the angle, and gave him more room, even if he was still supporting most of her weight. He began to thrust her harder and her head fell back. "Fuck, yes," she whimpered, muscles tense. "Please, oh please."

This might, officially, be the craziest position they'd gotten themselves into, but it was hot as hell. He thrust deep and moved one hand to spread behind her rear, able to balance her with one hand. It freed a hand to touch her, to stroke her clit.

The first touch made her hips jerk and she started to shake. "Steve. I can't - I need-" And then she was gone, clenching and pulsing around him, hotter and slicker than before.

He couldn't hold past that. He didn't need to. But the last thing he thought, just before he lost it, was how much he loved her.

When it finished sweeping through him, his legs buckled. Sharon released the branch and held onto him again, so they fell together. For a moment, they just tried to catch their breath, then Sharon started to laugh, hard enough he felt her squeezing around him. They were now down in the dirt. He kissed her her temple. "God, I adore you," he murmured.

"Oh, I love you," she replied, sighing and settling against him. "Sometimes I worry that our sex life might get routine or you might miss being with men or something. And then we fuck in a tree and I realize, nah, shouldn't be a problem."

"I am never going to get tired of this. Or of us," he said. "I promise you."

She sighed again and stroked a hand up and down his arm. "I know. In my heart, I know. But everyone has self doubt now and then, don't they? This is new for me, this long term relationship thing. And sometimes my head gets tangled."

"There is no one on this earth I'd rather fuck in a tree."

She laughed again and tightened her arms around him. "That was impressive, you gotta admit. And hot as hell. We should mount some pull up bars at home."

"I think if we went up into the loft, you could reach the roof beams."

There was silence as she pondered that. "Are you suggesting we turn the loft into some sort of sex room? Because I am down with that."

"What else are we going to do with it?"

"You make a good point." Leaning back, she kissed him. "Sounds like a fun and rewarding project."

He sat up, shifting her in his lap so he could lean against the tree. "I love you," he said quietly. "I want this to be. . . permanent."

Her fingers wound through his hair. "It is, as far as I'm concerned."

"Would you consider making that legally permanent?"

She was silent. Long enough he felt a thread of worry. Then she said, "Steven Grant Rogers are you proposing to me half naked in an orchard after we just had sex in a tree with your cock still inside me?"

He cleared his throat. "When you tell your friends, just mention the orchard part."

"Oh my God." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I would love to marry you," she said affectionately.

He nuzzled her, smiling into her hair. "Good.

"Maybe something small and simple? Just the team and my close family? My mother will want to turn it into a Thing, but I can handle her."

"I wonder if we can drag Clint and Nat back to the states for that. I was the witness at their wedding."

"Baby, Nat's acting like a proud yenta, I'm pretty sure you can strong arm her into attending our wedding."

He sighed happily and held her close. "It hasn't been a year," he said. "It's probably too soon. But I feel like we've both learned the hard way to grab what you can while you can reach it."

"I don't see my feelings changing for you." He felt her stroke his skin, tracing his throat. "I like the idea of it being official. Of making promises to each other."

"You'll be Mrs. Captain America," he said.

She laughed. "I'll probably grow to hate seeing that in tabloids. But for now I kinda like the sound of it."

"I do, too. Just between the two of us."

"I think I'm worthy of the title."

"You are." He kissed her hair. "Though, I admit, I like Mrs. Rogers better."

"Sharon Rogers." She leaned back and kissed him, cupping his face. "It does roll of the tongue, doesn't it?"

"I love you," he said quietly. "Thank you."

Surprised, she said, "I love you. Why are you thanking me?"

"You probably deserve better than a half-naked spontaneous proposal. And yet you continue to put up with me."

"Well," she said softly. "I think you're worth it. Awkward marriage proposals and all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is over. And we are sad.
> 
> Not sure what's next on the horizon, we have a few irons in the fire.
> 
> Happy Holidays to all our lovely readers. You guys are awesome.


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